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4 


’1 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW 


157 

MiSS  JANE  PORTER 

AUTHOR  OF  “the  SCOTTISH  CHIEFS,’*  ETC. 


“ Loin  d’aimer  la  gueiTe,  il  Tabhori^  ; . V • 
En  triomphant  mem'6  fl  ddplbre  ’ 

Les  desastres  qu’elle  produit 
Et  couronne  par  la  victoire, 

II  gemit  de  sa  propre  gloire,  ^ 

Si  la  paix  n’en  est  pas  le  fruit.!^  j ■ : ^ 


A NEW  AND  REVISED  EDITION, 

THE  ADDITION  OF  NEW  NOTES,  ETC.,  HY  THE  AUTHOR 


CHICAGO; 

BELFORD,  CLARKE  CO. 

193  & 194  State  Street. 


Printed  and  Bound  by  Donohue  & Henneberry,  Chicago. 


: W3 

I ?S3i 

* S1- 

L ■ 

hi  THE  AUTHOR 


HER  FRIENDLY  READERS. 


' 'Sn Written  for  the  new  edition  of  “Thaddeus  of  Warsaw,”  forming  one  of  the  series  called 
) **  The  Standard  Novel?.” 

t- 

,v^  


- To  such  readers  alone  who,  by  the  sympathy  of  a social 
taste,  fall  in  with  any  blameless  fashion  of  the  day,  and,  from 
an  amiable  interest,  also,  in  whatever  may  chance  to  afford 
them  innocent  pleasure,  would  fain  know  something  more 
about  an  author  whose  works  have  brought  them  that  gratifica- 
tion than  the  cold  letter  of  a mere  literary  preface  usually  tells  : 
to  such  readers  this — something  of  an  egotistical — epistle  is 


addressed. 

For,  in  beginning  the  republication  of  a regular  series 
of  the  novels,  or,  as  they  have  been  more  properly  called, 
biographical  romances,  of  which  I have  been  the  author,  it  has 
been  considered  desirable  to  make  certain  additions  to  each 
work,  in  the  form  of  a few  introductory  pages  and  scattered 
notes,  illustrative . of  the  origin  of  the  tale,  of  the  historical 
events  referred  to  in  it,  and  of  the  actually  living  characters 
who  constitute  its  personages,  with  some  account,  also,  of  the 
really  local  scenery  described  ; thus  giving,  it  is  thought,  a 
double  zest  to  the  entertainment  of  the  reader,  by  bringing 
him  into  a previous  acquaintance  with  the  persons  he  is  to 
meet  in  the  book,  and  making  him  agreeably  familiar  with  the 
country  through  which  he  is  to  travel  in  their  company.  In- 
deed, the  social  taste  of  the  times  has  lately  fully  shown  how 
advantageous  the  like  conversational  disclosures  have  proved 
to  the  recent  republications  of  the  celebrated  “ Waverley 
^Novels,”  by  the  chief  of  novel-writers ; and  in  the  new  series 
^of  the  admirable  naval  tales  by  the  distinguished  American 
novelist,  both  of  whom  paid  to  the  mother-country  the  gratify- 
ing tribute  of  making  it  their  birthplace. 

Such  evidences  in  favor  of  an  argument  could  not  fail  to 


4 


THE  AUTHOR  TO  HER  FRIENDLY  READERS. 


persuade  me  to  undertake  the  desired  elucidating  task ; feel- 
ing, indeed,  particularly  pleased  to  adopt,  in  my  turn,  a suc- 
cessful example  from  the  once  Great  Unknown — now  the  not 
^ss  great  avowed  author  of  the  Waverley  Novels,  in  the  person 
pf  Sir  Walter  Scott,  who  did  me  the  honor  to  adopt  the  style 
for  class  of  novel  of  which  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw  ’’  was  the 
'first* — -a  class  which,  uniting  the  personages  and  facts  of  real 
history  or  biography  with  a combining  and  illustrative  ma- 
chinery of  the  imagination,  formed  a new  species  of  writing  in 
that  day,  and  to  which  Madame  de  Stael  and  others  have 
given  the  appellation  of  an  epic  in  prose^  The  day  of  its 
appearance  is  now  pretty  far  back  : for  ‘‘  Thaddeus  of  War- 
saw ’’  (a  tale  founded  on  Polish  heroism)  and  the  Scottish 
Chiefs  (a  romance  grounded  on  Scottish  heroism)  were  both 
published  in  England,  and  translated  into  various  languages 
abroad,  many  years  before  the  literary  wonder  of  Scotland 
gave  to  the  world  his  transcendent  story  of  Waverley,  forming 
a most  impressive  historical  picture  of  the  last  struggle  of  the 
papist,  but  gallant,  branch  of  the  Stuarts  for  the  British  throne.* 

“ Thaddeus  of  Warsaw’’  being  the  first  essay,  in  the  form 
of  such  an  association  between  fact  and  fancy,  was  published 
by  its  author  with  a natural  apprehension  of  its  reception  by 
the  critical  part  of  the  public.  She  had  not,  indeed,  written 
it  with  any  view  to  publication,  but  from  an  almost  resistless 
impulse  to  embody  the  ideas  and  impressions  with  which  her 
heart  and  mind  were  then  full.  It  was  written  in  her  earliest 
youth  ; dictated  by  a fervent  sympathy  with  calamities  which 
had  scarcely  ceased  to  exist,  and  which  her  eager  pen  sought 
to  portray  ; and  it  was  given  to  the  world,  or  rather  to  those 
who  might  feel  with  her,  with  all  the  simple-hearted  enthusiasm 
which  saw  no  impediment  when  a tale  of  virtue  or  of  pity  was 
to  be  told. 

In  looking  back  through  the  avenue  of  life  to  that  time, 
what  events  have  occurred,  public  and  private,  to  the  countries 
and  to  the  individuals  named  in  that  tale  ! to  persons  of  even 
as  lofty  names  and  excellences,  of  our  own  and  other  lands, 
who  were  mutually  affected  with  me  in  admiration  and  regret 
for  the  virtues  and  the  sorrows  described  ! In  sitting  down 
now  to  my  retrospective  task,  I find  myself  writing  this,  my 
second  preface  to  the  story  of  ‘‘  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw,”  just 
thirty  years  from  the  date  of  its  first  publication.  Then,  I wrote 

* It  was  on  the  publication  of  these,  her  first  two  works,  in  the  German  language  that 
the  authoress  was  honored  with  being  made  a lady  o1  the  Chapter  of  St.  Joachim,  and  re- 
peived  the  gold  cross  of  the  order  from  Wirtemburg. 


THE  AUTHOR  TO  HER  FRIENDLY  READERS, 


S 


when  the  struggle  for  the  birthright  independence  of  Poland 
was  no  more ; when  she  lay  in  her  ashes,  and  her  heroes  in 
their  wounds  ; when  the  pall  of  death  spread  over  the  whole 
country,  and  her  widows  and  orphans  travelled  afar. 

In  the  days  of  my  almost  childhood, — that  is,  eight  years 
before  I dipped  my  pen  in  their  tears, — I remember  seeing 
many  of  those  hapless  refugees  wandering  about  St.  James’s 
Park.  They  had  sad  companions  in  the  like  miseries,  though 
from  different  enemies,  in  the  emigrants  from  France  ; and 
memory  can  never  forget  the  variety  of  wretched  yet  noble- 
looking visages  I then  contemplated  in  the  daily  walks  which 
my  mother’s  own  little  family  group  were  accustomed  to  take 
there.  One  person,  a gaunt  figure,  with  melancholy  and 
bravery  stamped  on  his  emaciated  features,  is  often  present  to 
the  recollection  of  us  all.  He  was  clad  in  a threadbare  blue 
uniform  great  coat,  with  a black  stock,  a rusty  old  hat,  pulled 
rather  over  his  eyes  ; his  hands  without  gloves  ; but  his  aspect 
was  that  of  a perfect  gentleman,  and  his  step  that  of  a military 
man.  We  saw  him  constantly  at  one  hour,  in  the  middle  walk 
of  the  Mall,  and  always  alone  ; never  looking  to  the  right  nor 
to  the  left,  but  straight  on  ; with  an  unmoving  countenance, 
and  a pace  which  told  that  his  thoughts  w^ere  those  of  a home- 
less and  hopeless  man — hopeless,  at  least,  of  all  that  life 
might  bring  him.  On,  on  he  went  to  the  end  of  the  Mall ; 
turned  again,  and  on  again ; and  so  he  continued  to  do  always, 
as  long  as  we  remained  spectators  of  his  solitary  walk : once, 
indeed,  we  saw  him  crossing  into  St.  Martin’s  Lane.  Nobody 
seemed  to  know  him,  for  he  spoke  to  none ; and  no  person 
ever  addressed  him,  though  many,  like  ourselves,  looked  at 
him,  and  stopped  in  the  path  to  gaze  after  him.  We  often 
longed  to  be  rich,  to  follow  him  wherever  his  wretched  abode 
might  have  been,  and  then  silently  to  send  comforts  to  him 
from  hands  he  knew  not  of.  We  used  to  call  him,  when 
speaking  of  him  to  ourselves,  II  Penseroso  ; and  by  that  name 
we  yet  not  unfrequently  talk  of  him  to  each  other,  and  never 
without  recurrence  to  the  very  painful,  because  unavailing, 
sympathy  we  then  felt  for  that  apparently  friendless  man. 
Such  sympathy  is,  indeed,  right ; for  it  is  one  of  the  secondary 
means  by  which  Providence  conducts  the  stream  of  his  mercies 
to  those  who  need  the  succor  of  their  fellow-creatures  ; and 
we  cannot  doubt  that,  though  the  agency  of  such  Providence 
was  not  to  be  in  our  hands,  there  were  those  who  had  both 
the  will  and  the  power  given,  and  did  not,  like  ourselves,  turn 
and  pity  that  interesting  emigrant  in  vain. 


6 


THE  AUTHOR  TO  HER  FRIENDLY  READERS. 


Some  time  after  this,  General  Kosciusko,  the  justly  cele- 
brated hero  of  Poland,  came  to  England,  on  his  way  to  the 
United  States  ; having  been  released  from  his  close  imprison- 
ment in  Russia,  and  in  the  noblest  manner,  too,  by  the  Em- 
peror Paul,  immediately  on  his  accession  to  the  throne.  His 
arrival  caused  a great  sensation  in  London,  and  many  of  the 
first  characters  of  the  times  pressed  forward  to  pay  their 
respects  to  such  real  patriotic  virtue  in  its  adversity.  An  old 
friend  of  my  family  was  amongst  them  ; his  own  warm  heart 
encouraging  the  enthusiasm  of  ours,  he  took  my  brother  Robert 
to  visit  the  Polish  veteran,  then  lodging  at  Sabloniere’s  Hotel, 
in  Leicester  Square.  My  brother,  on  his  return  to  us,  described 
him  as  a noble  looking  man,  though  not  at  all  handsome,  lying 
upon  a couch  in  a very  enfeebled  state,  from  the  effects  of 
numerous  wounds  he  had  received  in  his  breast  by  the  Cos- 
sacks’ lances  after  his  fall,  having  been  previously  overthrown 
by  a sabre  stroke  on  his  head.  His  voice,  in  consequence  of 
the  induced  internal  weakness,  was  very  low,  and  his  speaking 
always  with  resting  intervals.  He  wore  a black  bandage  across 
his  forehead,  which  covered  a deep  wound  there ; and,  indeed, 
his  whole  figure  bore  marks  of  long  suffering. 

Our  friend  introduced  my  brother  to  him  by  name,  and  as 
a boy  emulous  of  seeing  and  following  noble  examples.” 
Kosciusko  took  him  kindly  by  the  hand,  and  spoke  to  him  words 
of  generous  encouragement,  in  whatever  path  of  virtuous  am- 
bition he  might  take.  They  never  have  been  forgotten.  Is  it, 
then,  to  be  wondered  at,  combining  the  mute  distress  I had  so 
often  contemplatetl  in  other  victims  of  similar  misfortunes  with 
the  magnanimous  object  then  described  to  me  by  my  brother, 
that  the  story  of  heroism  my  young  imagination  should  think  of 
embodying  into  shape  should  be  founded  on  the  actual  scenes 
of  Kosciusko’s  sufferings,  and  moulded  out  of  his  virtues  ! 

To  have  made  him  the  ostensible  hero  of  the  tale,  would 
have  suited  neither  the  modesty  of  his  feelings  nor  the  hum- 
bleness of  my  own  expectation  of  telling  it  as  I wished.  I 
therefore  took  a younger  and  less  pretending  agent,  in  the  per- 
sonification of  a descendant  of  the  great  John  Sobieski. 

But  it  was,  as  I have  already  said,  some  years  after  the  par- 
tition of  Po^land  that  I wrote,  and  gave  for  publication,  my  his- 
torical romance  on  that  catastrophe.  It  was  finished  amid  a 
circle  of  friends  well  calculated  to  fan  the  flame  which  had 
inspired  its  commencement  some  of  the  leading  heroes  of 
the  British  army  just  returned  from  the  victorious  fields  of 
Alexandria  and  St  lean  d’Acre ; and,  seated  in  my  brother’s 


THE  AUTHOR  TO  HER  FRIENDLY  READERS, 


7 


little  study,  with  the  waf-dyed  coat  in  which  the  veteran  Aber- 
crombie breathed  his  last  grateful  sigh,  while,  like  Wolfe,  he 
gazed  on  the  boasted  invincible  standard  of  the  enemy,  brought 
tO'  him  by  a British  soldier, — with  this  trophy  of  our  own  native 
valor  on  one  side  of  me,  and  on  the  other  the  bullet-torn  vest 
of  another  English  commander  of  as  many  battles, — but  who, 
having  survived  to  enjoy  his  fame,  I do  not  name  here, — I put 
my  last  stroke  to  the  first  campaigns  of  Thaddeus  Sobieski. 

When  the  work  was  finished,  some  of  the  persons  near  me 
urged  its  being  published.  But  I argued,  in  opposition  to  the 
wish,  its  different  construction  to  all  other  novels  or  romances 
which  had  gone  before  it,  from  Richardson’s  time-honored  do- 
mestic novels  to  the  penetrating  feeling  in  similar  scenes  by  the 
pen  of  Henry  Mackenzie  ; and  again,  Charlotte  Smith’s  more 
recent,  elegant,  but  very  sentimental  love  stories.  But  the 
most  formidable  of  all  were  the  wildly  interesting  romances  of 
Anne  Radcliffe,  whose  magical  wonders  and  mysteries  were  then 
the  ruling  style  of  the  day.  I urged,  how  could  any  one  ex- 
pect that  the  admiring  readers  of  such  works  could  consider  my 
, kimply-told  biographical  legend  of  Poland  anything  better  than 
( R dull  union  between  real  history  and  a matter-of-fact  imagi- 
'•  nation  ? 

Arguments  were  found  to  answer  all  this  ; and  being  excited 
by  the  feelings  which  had  dictated  my  little  work,  and  en- 
couraged by  the  corresponding  characters  with  whom  I daily 
associated,  I ventured  the  essay.  However,  I had  not  read  the 
sage  romances  of  our  older  times  without  turning  to  some  ac- 
count the  lessons  they  taught  to  adventurous  personages  of 
either  sex  ; showing  that  even  the  boldest  knight  never  made 
a new  sally  without  consecrating  his  shield  with  some  impress 
of  acknowledged  reverence.  In  like  manner,  when  I entered 
the  field  with  my  modern  romance  of  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw,  I 
inscribed  the  first  page  with  the  name  of  the  hero  of  Acre. 
That  dedication  will  be  found  through  all  its  successive  editions, 
still  in  front  of  the  title-page  ; and  immediately  following  it  is 
a second  inscription,  added,  in  after  years,  to  the  memory  of 
the  magnanimous  patriot  and  exemplary  man,  Thaddeus  Kos- 
ciusko, who  had  first  filled  me  with  ambition  to  write  the  tale, 
and  who  died  in  Switzerland,  a.  d.  1817,  fuller  of  glory  than  of 
years.  Yet,  if  life  be  measured  by  its  vicissitudes  and  its  vir- 
tues, we  may  justly  say,  ‘‘  he  was  gathered  in  his  ripeness.” 

After  his  visit  to  old  friends  in  the  United  States, — where, 
in  his  youth,  he  had  learned  the  art  of  war,  and  the  science  of 
a noble,  unselfish  independence,  from  the  marvel  of  modern 


8 


THE  AUTHOR  TO  HER  FRIENDLY  READERS, 


times,  General  Washington, — Kosciusko  returned  to  Europe, 
and  abode  a while  in  France,  but  not  in  its  capital.  He  lived 
deeply  retired,  gradually  restoring  his  shattered  frame  to  some 
degree  of  health  by  the  peace  of  a resigned  mind  and  the  occu- 
pation of  rural  employments.  Circumstances  led  him  to  Swit- 
zerland ; and  the  country  of  William  Tell,  and  of  simple 
Christian  fellowship,  could  not  but  soon  be  found  peculiarly 
congenial  to  his  spirit,  long  turned  away  from  the  pageants  and 
the  pomp  of  this  world.  In  his  span  he  had  had  all,  either  in 
his  grasp  or  proffered  to  him.  For  when  nothing  remained  of 
all  his  military  glory  and  his  patriotic  sacrifices  but  a yet  exist- 
ing fame,  and  a conscious  sense  within  him  of  duty  performed, 
he  was  content  to  ‘‘  eat  his  crust,”  with  that  inheritance  alone  ; 
and  he  refused,  though  with  an  answering  magnanimity  of  ac- 
knowledgment, a valuable  property  offered  to  him  by  the  Em- 
peror of  Russia,  as  a free  gift  from  a generous  enemy,  esteem- 
ing his  proved,  disinterested  virtues.  He  also  declined  the  yet 
more  dazzling  present  of  a crown  from  the  then  master  of  the 
continent,  who  would  have  set  him  on  the  throne  of  Poland — 
but,  of  a truth,  under  the  vassalage  of  the  Emperor  of  the 
French  ! Kosciusko  was  not  to  be  consoled  for  Poland  by 
riches  bestowed  on  himself,  nor  betrayed  into  compromising 
her  birthright  of  national  independence  by  the  casuistry  that 
would  have  made  his  parental  sceptre  the  instrument  of  a for- 
eign domination. 

Having  such  a theme  as  his  name,  and  the  heroes  his  co- 
patriots, the  romance  of  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw  ” was  no  sooner 
published  than  it  overcame  the  novelty  of  its  construction,  and 
became  universally  popular.  Nor  was  it  very  long  before  it  fell 
into  General  Kosciusko’s  hands,  though  then  in  a distant  land  ; 
and  he  kindly  and  promptly  lost  no  time  in  letting  the  author 
know  his  approbation  of  the  narrative,  though  qualified  with 
several  modest  expressions  respecting  himself.  From  that 
period  she  enjoyed  many  treasured  marks  of  his  esteem  ; and 
she  will  add,  though  with  a sad  satisfaction,  that  amongst  her 
several  relics  of  the  Great  Departed  who  have  honored  her  with 
regard,  she  possesses,  most  dearly  prized,  a medal  of  Kosciusko 
and  a lock  of  his  hair.  About  the  same  time  she  received  a 
most  incontestable  proof  of  the  accuracy  of  her  story  from  the 
lips  of  General  Gardiner,  the  last  British  minister  to  the  court 
of  Stanislaus  Augustus.  On  his  reading  the  book,  he  was  so 
/ sure  that  the  facts  it  represented  could  only  have  been  learned 
^ on  the  spot,  that  he  expressed  his  surprise  to  several  persons 
that  the  author  of  the  work,  an  English  lady,  could  have  been 


THE  AUTHOR  TO  HER  FRIENDLY  READERS. 


9 


at  Warsaw  during  all  the  troubles  there  and  he  not  know  it. 
On  his  repeating  this  observation  to  the  late  Duke  of  Roxburgh, 
his  grace’s  sister-in-law,  who  happened  to  overhear  what  was 
said,  and  knew  the  writer,  answered  him  by  saying,  “ The  author 
has  never  been  in  Poland.’^  Impossible  ! ’’  replied  the  general ; 

no  one  could  describe  the  scenes  and  occurrences  there,  in 
the  manner  it  is  done  in  that  book,  without  having  been  an  eye- 
witness.” The  lady,  however,  convinced  the  general  of  the  fact 
being  otherwise,  by  assuring  him,  from  her  own  personal  knowl- 
edge, that  the  author  of  ‘‘ Thaddeus  of  Warsaw”  was  a mere 
school-girl  in  England  at  the  time  of  the  events  of  the  story. 

How,  then,  it  has  often  been  asked,  did  she  obtain  such  ac- 
curate information  with  regard  to  those  events } and  how  ac- 
quire her  familiar  acquaintance  with  the  palaces  and  persons 
she  represents  in  the  work  ? The  answer  is  short.  By  close 
questioning  every  person  that  came  in  her  way  that  knew  any- 
thing about  the  object  of  her  interest ; and  there  were  many 
brave  hearts  and  indignant  lips  ready  to  open  with  the  sad  yet 
noble  tale.  Thus  every  illustrious  individual  she  wished  to 
bring  into  her  narrative  gradually  grew  upon  her  knowledge,  till 
she  became  as  well  acquainted  with  all  her  desired  personages 
as  if  they  were  actually  present  with  her  ; for  she  knew  their 
/ minds  and  their  actions  ; and  these  compose  the  man.  The 
features  of  the  country,  also,  were  learned  from  persons  who 
had  trodden  the  spots  she  describes  : and  that  they  were  indeed 
correct  pictures  of  their  homes  and  war-fields,  the  tears  and 
bursting  enthusiasm  of  many  of  Poland’s  long  expatriated  sons 
have  more  than  once  borne  testimony  to  her. 

As  one  instance,  out  of  the  number  I might  repeat,  of  the 
inextinguishable  love  of  those  noble  wanderers  from  their  native 
country,  1 shall  subjoin  the  copy  of  a letter  addressed  to  me  by  • 
one  of  those  gallant  men,  then  holding  a high  military  post  in 
a foreign  service,  and  who,  I afterwards  learned,  was  of  the 
family  of  Kosciusko,  whose  portrait  he  sent  to  me : for  the 
letter  was  accompanied  with  a curiously-wrought  ring  of  pure 
gold,  containing  a likeness  of  that  hero.  The  letter  was  in 
French,  and  I transcribe  it  literally  in  the  words  of  the  writer : — 

Madame  ! 

“ Un  inconnu  ose  addresser  la  parole  a hauteur  immortel 
de  Thaddeus  de  Warsaw  ; attache  par  tent  de  liens  a I’heros 
que  vous  avez  chante,  je  m’enhardis  a distraire  p )ur  iin  moment 
VOS  nobles  veilles. 

‘‘  Qu’il  me  soit  permis  de  vous  offrir,  madame,  Thommage 


10 


THE  AUTHOR  TO  HER  FRIENDLY  READERS. 


de  mon  admiration  la  plus  exaltee,  en  vous  presentant  la  bague 
qui  contient  le  buste  du  General  Kosciusko : — elle  a servi  de 
signe  de  ralliment  aux  patriots  Polonois,  lorsque,  en  1794,  ils 
entreprirent  de  secouer  leur  joug. 

“ Les  anciens  deposoient  leurs  offrandes  sur  I’autel  de  leurs 
divinites  tutelaires  ; — je  ne  fais  qu’imiter  leur  exeinple.  Vous 
etes  pour  tous  les  Polonois  cette  divinite,  qui  la  premiere  ait 
elevee  sa  voix,  du  fond  de  I’imperiale,  Albion,  en  leur  faveur. 

“Un  jour  viendra,  et  j’ose  conserver  dans  mon  coeur  cet 
espoir,  que  vos  accens,  qui  ont  retenti  dans  le  coeur  de  TEurope 
sensible,  produiront  leur  effet  celestial,  en  ressuscitant  I’ombre 
sanglante  de  ma  chere  patrie. 

“ Daignez  agreer,  madame,  Thommage  respectueuse  d’un 
de  VOS  serviteurs  le  plus  devoue,  &c.  &c/’ 

Probably  the  writer  of  the  above  is  now  returned  to  his 
country,  his  vows  having  been  most  awfully  answered  by  one 
of  the  most  momentous  struggles  she  has  ever  had,  or  to  which 
the  nations  around  have  ever  yet  stood  as  spectators  ; for  the 
balance  of  Europe  trembles  at  the  turning  of  her  scale. 

Thus,  then,  it  cannot  but  be  that  in  the  conclusion  of  this  my, 
perhaps,  last  introductory  preface  to  any  new  edition  of  “ Thad- 
deus  of  Warsaw,’’  its  author  should  offer  up  a sincerely  heart- 
felt  prayer  to  the  King  of  kings,  the  Almighty  Father  of  all 
mankind,  that  His  all-gracious  Spirit  may  watch  over  the  issue 
of  this  contest,  and  dictate  the  peace  of  Poland  ! 

Esher,  May^  1831. 


Jebtralian  ia  Jirsi  ®irttx0it< 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW 

» IS  INSCRIBED  TO 

SIK,  SIIDISTE-Y  S^VCITH:  ; 

IN  THE  HOPE  THAT,  AS 

SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY 

DID  NOT  DISDAIN  TO  WRITE  A ROMANCE, 

SIR  SIDNEY  SMITH 

WILL  NOT  REFUSE  TO  READ  ONE. 

SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY  CONSIGNED  HIS  EXCELLENT  WORK  TO  THE 
ATFECTION  OF  A SISTER. 

I CONFIDE  MY  ASPIRING  ATTEMPT  TO  THE 
URBANITY  OF  THE  BRAVE  ; TO  THE  MAN  OF  TASTE, 

OF  FEELING,  AND  OF  CANDOR  ; 

ro  HIM  WHOSE  FRIENDSHIP  WILL  BESTOW 
THAT  INDULGENCE  ON  THE  AUTHOR  WHICH  HIS  JUDGMENT 
MIGHT  HAVE  DENIED  TO  THE  BOOK  ; 

TO  HIM  OF  WHOM  FUTURE  AGES  WILL  JPEAK  WITH  HONOR, 
AND  THE  PRESENT  TIMES  BOAST  AS  THEIR  GLORY  1 

TO 

SIR  SIDNEY  SMITH, 

I SUBMIT  THIS  HUMBLE  TRIBUTE  OF  THE  HIGHEST  RESPECT 
WHICH  CAN  BE  OFFERED  BY  A BRITON 
OR  ANIMATE  THE  HEART  OF 
HIS  SINCERE  FRIEND, 


THE  AUTHOR. 


"■  j : rui';.  ,w  ■ 

'■'■  ' ■<  -■•'  ■ 

yitrf 

vT!V^ 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 


Having  attempted  a narrative  o£  the  intended  description, 
but  written,  in  fact,  from  the  mere  impulse  of  sympathy  with 
its  subject  still  fresh  in  my  own  and  every  pitying  memory,  it 
is  natural  that,  after  having  made  up  my  mind  to  assent  to  its 
publication,  in  which  much  time  and  thought  has  been  expended 
in  considering  the  responsibility  of  so  doing,  from  so  unprac- 
tised a pen,  I should  feel  an  increase  of  anxiety  respecting  its 
ultimate  fate. 

Therefore,  before  the  reader  favors  the  tale  itself  with  his 
attention,  I beg  leave  to  offer  him  a little  account  of  the  prin- 
ciples that  actuated  its  composition,  and  in  regard  to  which 
one  of  the  most  honored  heads  in  the  author’s  family  urged 
her  not  to  withhold  it  from  the  press ; ” observing,  in  his  per- 
suasions, that  the  mistakes  which  many  of  my  young  contempo- 
raries of  both  sexes  continually  make  in  their  estimates  of  human 
character,  and  of  the  purposes  of  human  life,  require  to  have 
a line  of  difference  between  certain  splendid  vices  and  some  of 
the  brilliant  order  of  virtues  to  be  distinctly  drawn  before  them. 
‘^And,”  he  remarked,  ‘‘it  appeared  to  be  so  done  in  the  pages 
of  my  Polish  manuscript.  Therefore,”  added  he,  “ let  Thad- 
deus  of  Warsaw  speak  openly  for  himself ! ” 

This  opinion  decided  me.  Though  with  fear  and  trembling, 
yet  I felt  an  encouraging  consciousness  that  in  writing  the 
manuscript  narrative  for  my  own  private  enjoyment  onl}',  and 
the  occasional  amusement  of  those  friends  dearest  around  me, 
I had  wished  to  portray  characters  whose  high  endowments 
could  not  be  misled  into  proud  ambitions,  nor  the  gift  of  daz- 
zling social  graces  betray  into  the  selfish  triumphs  of  worldly 
vanity, — characters  that  prosperity  could  not  inflate,  nor  disap- 
pointments depress,  from  pious  trust  and  honorable  action. 
The  pure  fires  of  such  a spirit  declare  their  sacred  origin ; and 
such  is  the  talisman  of  those  achievements  which  amaze  every- 
body but  their  accomplisher.  The  eye  fixed  on  it  is  what  divine 
truth  declares  it  to  be  “ single  ! ” There  is  no  double  purpose 

13 


14 


PREFACE. 


in  it ; no  glancing  to  a man’s  own  personal  aggrandizement  on 
one  side  and  on  professing  services  to  his  fellow-creatures  on 
the  other  such  a spirit  has  only  one  aim — Heaven  ! and  the 
eternal  records  of  that  wide  firmament  include  within  it  all 
good  to  man.” 

What  flattered  Alexander  of  Macedon  into  a miclman,  and 
perverted  the  gracious-minded  Julius  Caesar  into  usurpation  and 
tyranny,  has  also  been  found  by  Christian  heroes  the  most 
perilous  ordeal  of  their  virtue  ; but,  inasmuch  as  they  are  Chris- 
tian heroes,  and  not  pagan  men,  worshippers  of  false  gods, 
whose  fabled  examples  inculcated  all  these  deeds  of  self-absorb- 
ing vain-glory,  our  heroes  of  a ‘‘  better  revelation  ” have  no  ex- 
cuse for  failing  under  their  trial,  and  many  there  be  who  pass 
through  it  pure  and  undefiled.”  Such  were  the  great  Alfred 
of  England,  Gustavus  Vasa  of  Sweden,  and  his  greater  suc- 
cessor in  true  glory,  Gustavus  Adolphus, — all  champions  of 
immutable  justice  and  ministers  of  peace.  And  though  these 
may  be  regarded  as  personages  beyond  the  sphere  of  ordinary 
emulations,  yet  the  same  principles,  or  their  opposites,  prevail 
in  every  order  of  men  from  the  prince  to  the  peasant ; and, 
perhaps,  at  no  period  of  the  world  more  than  the  present  were 
these  divers  principles  in  greater  necessity  to  be  considered,  and, 
according  to  the  just  conclusion,  be  obeyed.  On  all  sides  of 
us  we  see  public  and  private  society  broken  up,  as  it  were  by 
an  earthquake  : the  noblest  and  the  meanest  passions  of  the 
human  bosom  at  contention,  and  the  latter  often  so  disguised, 
that  the  vile  ambuscade  is  not  even  suspected  till  found  within 
the  heart  of  the  fortress  itself.  We  have,  however,  one  veri- 
table touchstone,  that  of  the  truest  observation,  ‘We  shall  know 
a tree  by  its  fruits.”  Let  us  look  round,  then,  for  those  which 
bear  “good  fruits,”  wholesome  to  the  taste  as  well  as  pleasant 
to  the  sight,  whether  they  grow  on  high  altitudes  or  in  the 
humbler  valleys  of  the  earth  ; let  us  view  men  of  all  degrees 
in  life  in  their  actions,  and  not  in  their  pretensions, — such  men 
as  were  some  of  the  Sobieski  race  in  Poland,  in  every  change 
of  their  remarkable  lives.  When  placed  at  the  summit  of  mor- 
tal fame,  surrounded  by  greatness  and  glory,  and  consequent 
power,  they  evinced  neither  pride  to  others  nor  a sense  of  self- 
aggrandizement  in  themselves  ; and,  when  under  a reverse  dis- 
pensation, national  misfortunes  pursued  them,  and  family  sor- 
rows pierced  their  souls,  the  weakness  of  a murmur  never  sunk 
the  dignity  of  their  sustaining  fortitude,  nor  did  the  firmness  of 
that  virtue  harden  the  amiable  sensibilities  of  their  hearts. 

To  exhibit  so  truly  heroic  and  endearing  a portrait  of  what 


PREFACE, 


^5 

every  Christian  man  ought  to  be, — for  the  law  of  God  is  the 
same  to  the  poor  as  to  the  rich, — I have  chosen  one  of  that 
("Illustrious  and,  I believe,  now  extinct  race  for  the  subject  of  my 
I sketch ; and  the  more  aptly  did  it  present  itself,  it  being  neces- 
i sary  to  show  my  hero  amidst  scenes  and  circumstances  ready 
I to  exercise  his  brave  and  generous  propensities,  and  to  put  their 
I personal  issues  to  the  test  on  his  mind.  Hence  Poland’s  sadly- 
‘‘  varying  destinies  seemed  to  me  the  stage  best  calculated  for  the 
development  of  any  self-imposed  task. 

There  certainly  were  matters  enough  for  the  exhibition  of 
all  that  human  nature  could  suffer  and  endure,  and,  alas  ! perish 
under,  in  the  nearly  simultaneous  but  terrible  regicidal  revolu- 
tion of  France  ; but  I shrunk  from  that  as  a tale  of  horror,  the 
work  of  demons  in  the  shapes  of  men.  It  was  a conflict  in 
which  no  comparisons,  as  between  man  and  man,  could  exist  ; 
and  may  God  grant  that  so  fearful  a visitation  may  never  be 
inflicted  on  this  world  again.  May  the  nations  of  this  world 
lay  its  warnings  to  their  hearts  ! 

It  sprung  from  a tree  self-corrupted,  which  only  could  prO' 
duce  such  fruits  : the  demon  hierarchy  of  the  French  philoso- 
phers, who  had  long  denied  the  being  of  that  pure  and  Almighty 
God,  and  who,  in  the  arrogance  of  their  own  deified  reason, 
and  while  in  utter  subjection  to  the  wildest  desires  of  their 
passions,  published  their  profane  and  polluted  creed  amongst 
all  orders  of  the  people,  and  the  natural  and  terrible  conse- 
quences ensued.  Ignorant  before,  they  became  like  unto  their 
teachers,  demons  in  their  unbelief, — demons  in  one  common 
envy  and  hatred  of  all  degrees  above  them,  or  around  them, 
whose  existence  seemed  at  all  in  the  way  of  even  their  slightest 
gratification  : mutual  spoliation  and  destruction  covered  the 
country.  How  often  has  the  tale  been  told  me  by  noble  refu- 
gees, sheltered  on  our  shores  from  those  scenes  of  blood,  where 
infamy  triumphed  and  truth  and  honor  were  massacred  ; but 
such  narratives,  though  they  never  can  be  forgotten,  are  too 
direful  for  the  hearer  to  contemplate  in  memory. 

Therefore,  when  I sought  to  represent  the  mental  and  moral 
contest  of  man  with  himself,  oi  with  his  fellow-men,  I did  not 
look  for  their  field  amongst  hum  \n  monsters,  but  with  natural 
and  civilized  man  ; inasmuch  as  he  is  seen  to  be  influenced  by 
the  impulses  of  his  selfish  passions — ambition,  covetousness, 
and  the  vanities  of  life,  or,  on  the  opposite  side,  by  the  gener- 
ous amenities  of  true  disinterestedness,  in  all  its  trying  situa- 
tions ; and,  as  I have  said,  the  recent  struggle  in  Poland,  to 
maintain  her  laws  and  loyal  independence,  against  the  combined 


i6 


PREFACE. 


aggressions  of  the  three  most  powerful  states  in  Europe,  seemed 
to  afford  me  the  most  suitable  objects  for  my  moral  aim,  to  in- 
terest by  sympathy,  while  it  taught  the  responsible  commission 
of  human  Hfe. 

I have  now  described  the  plan  of  my  story,  its  aim  and 
origin. 

If  it  be  disapproved,  let  it  be  at  once  laid  aside  ; but  should 
it  excite  any  interest,  I pray  its  perusal  may  be  accompanied 
with  an  indulgent  candor,  its  subjects  being  of  so  new,  and 
therefore  uncustomary,  a character  in  a work  of  the  kind.  But 
if  the  reader  be  one  of  my  own  sex,  I would  especially  solicit 
her  patience  while  going  through  the  first  portion  of  the  tale, 
its  author  being  aware  that  war  and  politics  are  not  the  most 
promising  themes  for  an  agreeable  amusement ; but  the  battles 
are  not  frequent,  nor  do  the  cabinet  councils  last  long.  I beg 
the  favor,  if  the  story  is  to  be  read  at  all,  that  no  scene  may  be 
passed  over  as  extraneous,  for  though  it  begin  like  a state-paper, 
or  a sermon,  it  always  terminates  by  casting  some  new  light  on 
the  portrait  of  the  hero.  Beyond  those  events  of  peril  and  of 
patriotic  devotedness,  the  remainder  of  the  pages  dwell  gener- 
ally with  domestic  interests  ; but  if  the  reader  do  not  approach 
them  regularly  through  the  development  of  character  opened 
in  the  preceding  troubled  field,  what  they  exhibit  will  seem  a 
mere  wilderness  of  incidents,  without  interest  or  end  ; indeed 
iTThave  designed  nothing  in  the  personages  of  this  narrative 
out  of  the  way  of  living  experience.  I have  sketched  no  virtue 
that  I have  not  seen,  nor  painted  any  folly  from  imagination. 
I have  endeavored  to  be  as  faithful  to  reality  in  my  pictures  of 
cjomestic  morals,  and  of  heroic  duties,  as  a just  painter  would 
seek  to  be  to  the  existing  objects  of  nature,  wonderful  and 
wild,  or  of  gentlest  beauty ! and  on  these  grounds  I have 
steadily  attempted  to  inculcate  ‘‘that  virtue  is  the  highest  proof 
oi  understanding,  and  the  only  solid  basis  of  greatness;  that 
Wice  is  the  natural  consequence  of  grovelling  thoughts,  which 
begin  in  mistake  and  end  in  ignominy.^ 


POSTCRIPT. 


17 


POSTCRIPT  TO  A SUBSEQUENT  EDITION. 

After  so  many  intervening  years  have  passed  since  the 
author  of  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw  wrote  the  foregoing  preface,  to 
introduce  a work  so  novel  in  its  character  to  the  notice  and 
candid  judgment  of  the  British  public,  it  was  her  intention  to 
take  the  present  occasion  of  its  now  perfectly  new  republica- 
tion, at  the  distance  of  above  forty  years  from  its  earliest  ap- 
perance  and  so  continued  editions,  to  express  her  grateful 
sense  of  that  public’s  gratifying  sympathies  and  honoring  testi- 
monies of  approbation,  from  its  author’s  youth  to  age  ; but 
even  in  the  hour  she  sits  down  to  perform  the  gracious  task, 
she  feels  a present  incapability  to  undertake  it.  The  very  at- 
tempt has  too  sensibly  recalled  to  her  heart  events  that  have 
befallen  her  since  she  lived  amongst  the  models  of  her  tale  ; 
and  she  has  also  more  recently  been  in  many  of  the  places  it 
describes  ; and  circumstances,  both  of  joys  and  sorrows,  hav- 
ing occurred  to  her  there  to  influence  the  whole  future  current 
of  her  mortal  life,  she  finds  it  impossible  to  yet  touch  on  those 
times  and  scenes  connected  with  the  subjects  of  her  happy 
youth,  which  would  now  only  reverberate  notes  of  sadness  it  is 
her  duty  to  repress.  Hence,  though  while  revising  the  work 
itself  she  experiences  a calm  delight  in  the  occupation,  being  a 
kind  of  parting  duty,  also,  to  the  descendants  of  her  earliest, 
readers,  she  would  rather  defer  any  little  elucidations  she  may 
have  met  with  regarding  the  objects  of  her  pen  to  a few  pages 
in  the  form  of  an  Appendix  at  the  end  of  the  work  ; all,  indeed, 
bringing  her  observations,  whether  by  weal  or  woe,  to  the  one 
great  and  guiding  conclusion,  ‘‘  Man  is  formed  for  two  states 
of  existence — a mortal  and  an  immortal  being  ; ” in  the  Holy 
Scriptures  authoritatively  declared,  “ For  the  life  that  now  is, 
and  for  that  which  is  to  come.” 


Bristol,  November , 1844. 


JANE  PORTER. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAGE. 

I 21 

II.  The  Mill  of  Mariemont 3^ 

III.  The  Opening  of  the  Campaign 4^ 

IV.  The  Pass  of  Volunna 4^ 

V.  The  Banks  of  the  Vistula 54 

VI.  Society  in  Poland 63 

VII.  The  Diet  of  Poland 74 

VIII.  Battle  of  Brzesc — The  Tenth  of  October 80 

IX.  The  Last  Days  of  Villanow 88 

X.  Sobieski’s  Departure  from  Warsaw 97 

XI.  The  Baltic 105. 

XII.  Thaddeus’s  First  Day  in  England m 

XIII.  The  Exile’s  Lodgings.., 122 

XIV.  A Robbery  and  its  Consequences 129 

XV.  The  Widow’s  Family I34 

XVI .  The  Money-Lender 142 

XVII.  The  Meeting  of  Exiles I49 

XVIII.  The  Veteran’s  Narrative I57 

XIX.  Friendship  a Staff  in  Human  Life 167 

XX.  Woman’s  Kindness I75 

XXL  Fashionable  Sketches  from  the  Life ..  180 

XX 11.  Honorable  Resources  of  an  Exile 187 

XXIII . . 193 

XXIV.  Lady  Tinemouth’s  Boudoir 198 

XXV.  The  Countess  of  Tinemouth’s  Story 204 

XX VI.  The  Kindredship  of  Minds 215 

XXVII.  Such  Things  Were 226 

XXVIII.  Mary  Beaufort  and  her  Venerable  Aunt  233 

XXIX.  Hyde  Park 243 

XXX.  Influences  of  Character... • 248 

XXXI.  The  Great  and  the  Small  of  Society 258 


XXXII.  The  Obduracy  of  Vice — The  Inhumanity  of  Folly.  ..  26/i 

(19) 


20 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP. 

XXXI II.  Passion  and  Principle 

XXXIV.  Requiescat  in  Pace 

XXXV.  Deep  are  the  Purposes  of  Adversity. 

XXXVI.  An  English  Prison 

XXXVI I 

XXXVI II.’  Zeai  is  ’PoweV. ! .*’.*!  .* ! .* ! 

XXXIX.  The  Vale  of  Grantham — Belvoir 

XL.  Somerset  Castle 

XLI.  The  Maternal  Heart 

XLII.  Harrowby  Abbey 

XLIII.  The  Old  Village' Hotel 

XLIV.  Letters  of  Farewell 

XLV.  Deerhurst 

XLVI.  The  Spirit  of  Peace 

XLV  11.  An  Avowal, 

XLVI  11.  A Family  Party 

XLIX 

L 

Appendix 


PAGS. 

274 

283 

289 

295 

312 

321 

331 

340 

350 

354 

364 

372 

379 

396 

405 

415 

421 

431 

441 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  large  and  magnificent  palace  of  Villanow,  whose  vast 
domains  stretch  along  the  northern  bank  of  the  Vistula,  was 
the  favorite  residence  of  John  Sobieski,  King  of  Poland.  That 
monarch,  after  having  delivered  his  country  from  innumerable 
enemies,  rescued  Vienna  and  subdued  the  Turks,  retired  to 
this  place  at  certain  seasons,  and  thence  dispensed  those  acts 
of  his  luminous  and  benevolent  mind  which  rendered  his  name 
great  and  his  people  happy. 

When  Charles  the  Twelfth  of  Sweden  visited  the  tomb  of 
Sobieski,  at  Cracow,  he  exclaimed,  ‘‘  What  a pity  that  so  great 
a man  should  ever  die  ! ^ Another  generation  saw  the  spirit 

of  this  lamented  hero  revive  in  the  person  of  his  descendant, 
Constantine,  Count  Sobieski,  who,  in  a comparatively  private 
station,  as  Palatine  of  Masovia,  and  the  friend  rather  than  the 
lord  of  his  vassals,  evinced  by  his  actions  that  he  was  the  in- 
heritor of  his  forefather’s  virtue  as  well  as  of  his  blood. 

He  was  the  first  Polish  nobleman  who  granted  freedom  to 
his  peasants.  He  threw  down  their  mud  hovels  and  built  com- 
fortable villages  ; he  furnished  them  with  seed,  cattle,  and  im- 
plements of  husbandry,  and  calling  their  families  together,  laid 
before  them  the  deed  of  their  enfranchisement ; but  before  he 
signed  it,  he  expressed  a fear  that  they  would  abuse  this  liberty 
of  which  they  had  not  had  experience,  and  become  licentious. 

No,”  returned  a venerable  peasant ; “ when  we  were  igno- 
rant men,  and  possessed  no  property  of  our  own  except  these 
staffs  in  our  hands,  we  were  destitute  of  all  manly  motives  for 
propriety  of  conduct ; but  you  have  taught  us  to  read  out  of 

* In  the  year  1683,  this  hero  raised  the  siege  of  Vienna,  then  beleagured  by  the  Turks  ; 
and  driving  them  out  of  Europe,  saved  Christendom  from  a Mohammedan  usurpation. 

(21) 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


22 

the  Floly  Book,  how  to  serve  God  and  honor  the  king.  And 
sliall  we  not  respect  laws  which  thus  bestow  on  us,  and  ensure 
to  us,  the  fruits  of  our  labors  and  the  favor  of  Heaven  ! ” 

The  good  sense  and  truth  of  this  answer  were  manifested 
in  the  event.  On  the  emancipation  of  these  people,  they  be- 
came so  prosperous  in  business  and  correct  in  behavior,  that 
the  example  of  the  palatine  was  speedily  followed  by  the  Chan- 
cellor Zamoiski  ^ and  several  of  the  principal  nobility.  The 
royal  Stanislaus’s  beneficent  spirit  moved  in  unison  with  that 
of  Sobieski,  and  a constitution  was  given  to  Poland  to  place 
her  in  the  first  rank  of  free  nations. 

Encircled  by  his  happy  tenantry,  and  within  the  bosom  of 
his  family,  this  illustrious  man  educated  Thaddeus,  the  only 
male  heir  of  his  name,  to  the  exercise  of  all  the  virtues  which 
ennoble  and  endear  the  possessor. 

But  this  reign,  of  public  and  domestic  peace  was  not  to 
continue.  Three  formidable  and  apparently  friendly  states  en- 
vied the  effects  of  a patriotism  they  would  not  imitate  ; and  in 
the  beginning  of  the  year  1792,  regardless  of  existing  treaties, 
broke  in  upon  the  unguarded  frontiers  of  Poland,  threatening 
with  all  the  horrors  of  a merciless  war  the  properties,  lives,  and 
liberties  of  the  people. 

The  family  of  Sobieski  had  ever  been  foremost  in  the  ranks 
of  their  country  ; and  at  the  present  crisis  its  venerable  head 
did  not  hang  behind  the  youngest  warrior  in  preparations  for 
the  field. 

On  the  evening  of  an  anniversary  of  the  birthday  of  his 
grandson,  the  palatine  rode  abroad  with  a party  of  friends,  who 
had  been  celebrating  the  festival  with  their  presence.  The 
countess  (his  daughter)  and  Thaddeus  were  left  alone  in  the 
saloon.  She  sighed  as  she  gazed  on  her  son,  who  stood  at  some 
distance,  fitting  to  his  youthful  thigh  a variety  of  sabres,  which 
his  servaant  a little  time  before  had  laid  upon  the ‘table.  She 
observed  with  anxiety  the  eagerness  of  his  motion,  and  the 
ardor  that  was  flashing  from  his  eyes. 

“ Thaddeus,”  said  she,  “ lay  down  that  sword  ; I wish  to 
speak  with  you.”  Thaddeus  looked  gayly  up.  “ My  dear 
Thaddeus  ! ” cried  his  mother,  and  tears  started  to  her  eyes. 
The  blush  of  enthusiasm  faded  from  his  face  ; he  threw  the 
sabre  from  him,  and  drew  near  the  countess. 

“ Why,  my  dear  mother,  do  you  distress  yourself  1 When  I 

* This  family  had  ever  been  one  of  the  noblest  and  most  virtuous  in  Poland.  And  had 
its  wisdom  been  listened  to  in  former  years  by  certain  powerful  and  wildly  ambitious  lords 
that  once  great  kingdom  would  never  have  exchanged  its  long  line  of  hereditary  native, 
princes  for  an  elective  monarchy — that  arena  of  all  political  mischiefs 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  23 

am  in  battle,  shall  I not  have  my  grandfather  near  me,  and  be 
as  much  under  the  protection  of  God  as  at  this  moment  ? ’’ 

Yes,  my  child,’’  answered  she,  ‘‘  God  will  protect  you. 
He  is  the  protector  of  the  orphan,  and  you  are  fatherless,*’ 
The  countess  paused — “ Here,  my  son,”  said  she,  giving  him  a 
sealed  packet,  “ take  this  ; it  will  reveal  to  you  the  history  of 
your  birth  and  the  name  of  your  father.  It  is  necessary  that 
you  should  know  a painful  fact,  which  has  hitherto  been  con- 
cealed from  you  by  the  wish  and  noble  judgment  of  your  grand- 
father.” Thaddeus  received  it,  and  stood  silent  with  surprise. 

Read  it,  my  love,”  continued  she,  ^^but  go  to  your  own  apart- 
ments ; here  you  may  be  interrupted.” 

Bewildered  by  the  manner  of  the  countess,  Thaddeus,  with- 
out answering,  instantly  obeyed.  Shutting  himself  within  his 
study,  he  impatiently  opened  the  papers,  and  soon  found  his 
whole  attention  absorbed  in  the  following  recital : 


‘‘To  MY  DEAR  Son,  Thaddeus  Constantine  Sobieski. 

“ You  are  now,  my  Thaddeus,  at  the  early  age  of  nineteen, 
going  to  engage  the  enemies  of  your  country.  Ere  I resign  my 
greatest  comfort  to  the  casualties  of  war  ; ere  I part  with  you, 
perhaps  forever,  I would  inform  you  who  your  father  really  was 
— that  father  whose  existence  you  have  hardly  known  and 
whose  name  you  have  never  heard.  You  believe  yourself  an 
orphan,  your  mother  a widow  ; but,  alas  ! I have  now  to  tell  you 
that  you  were  made  fatherless  by  the  perfidy  of  man,  not  by 
the  dispensation  of  Heaven. 

“Twenty-three  years  ago,  I accompanied  my  father  in  a 
tour  through  Germany  and  Italy.  Grief  for  the  death  of  my 
mother  had  impaired  his  health,  and  the  physicians  ordered  him 
to  reside  in  a warmer  climate  ; accordingly  we  fixed  ourselves 
near  the  Arno.  During  several  visits  to  Florence,  my  father 
met  in  that  city  with  a young  Englishman  of  the  name  of  Sack- 
ville.  These  frequent  meetings  opened  into  intimacy,  and  he 
was  invited  to  our  villa. 

“ Mr.  Sackville  was  not  only  the  most  interesting  man  I had 
ever  seen,  but  the  most  accomplished,  and  his  heart  seemed 
the  seat  of  every  graceful  feeling.  He  was  the  first  man  for 
whose  society  I felt  a lively  preference.  I used  to  smile  at  tliis 
strange  delight,  or  sometimes  weep  ; for  the  emotions  which 
agitated  me  were  undefinable,  but  they  were  enchanting,  and 
unheedingly  I gave  them  indulgence.  The  hours  which  we 
passed  together  in  the  interchange  of  reciprocal  sentiments,  the 


24 


THADDEUS  OF  WA.RSAIV, 


kind  beaming  of  his  looks,  the  thousand  sighs  that  he  breathed, 
the  half-uttered  sentences,  all  conspired  to  rob  me  of  myself. 

“Nearly  twelve  months  were  spent  in  these  delusions. 
During  the  last  three,  doubts  and  anguish  displaced  the  bliss- 
ful reveries  of  an  infant  tenderness.  The  attentions  of  Mr. 
Sackville  died  away.  From  being  the  object  of  his  constant 
search,  he  then  sedulously  sought  to  avoid  me.  When  my 
father  withdrew  to  his  closet,  he  would  take  his  leave,  and  allow 
me  to  walk  alone.  Solitary  and  wretched  were  my  rambles. 

I had  full  leisure  to  compare  my  then  disturbed  state  of  mind 
with  the  comparative  peace  I had  enjoyed  in  my  own  country. 
Immured  within  the  palace  of  Villanow,  watching  the  declining 
health  of  my  mother,  I knew  nothing  of  the  real  world,  the  little 
I had  learned  of  society  being  drawn  from  books  ; and,  uncor- 
rected by  experience,  I was  taught  to  believe  a perfection  in 
man  which,  to  my  affliction,  I since  found  to  be  but  a poet’s 
dream.  When  my  father  took  me  to  Italy,  I continued  averse 
to  public  company.  In  such  seclusion,  the  presence  of  Sack- 
ville, being  almost  my  only  pleasure,  chased  from  my  mind  its 
usual  reserve,  and  gradually  and  surely  won  upon  the  awakened 
affections  of  my  heart.  Artless  and  unwarned,  I knew  not  the 
nature  of  the  passion  which  I cherished  until  it  had  gained  an 
ascendancy  that  menaced  my  life. 

“ On  the  evenihg  of  one  of  those  days  in  which  I had  been 
disappointed  of  seeing  this  too-dearly-prized  companion,  I 
strolled  out,  and,  hardly  conscious  of  my  actions,  threw  myself 
along  the  summit  of  a flight  of  steps  in  our  garden  that  led  down 
to  the  Arno.  My  head  rested  against  the  base  of  a statue 
which,  because  of  its  resemblance  to  me,  Sackville  had  presented 
to  my  father.  Every  recollected  kindness  of  his  now  gave  me 
additional  torment ; and  clinging  to  the  pedestal  as  to  the  altar 
of  my  adoration,  in  the  bitterness  of  disappointment  I addressed 
the  insensible  stone : ‘ O ! were  I pale  as  thou  art,  and  this 
breast  as  cold  and  still,  would  Sackville,  when  he  looked  on  me, 
give  one  sigh  to  the  creature  he  had  destroyed  ? My  sobs  fol- 
lowed this  adjuration,  and  the  next  moment  I felt  myself  en- 
circled in  his  arms.  I struggled,  and  almost  fainting  with  shame 
at  such  utter  weakness,  implored  to  be  released.  He  did  re- 
lease me,  and,  in  an  agony  of  emotion,  besought  my  pardon  for 
the  misery  I had  endured.  ^ Now,  Therese,’  cried  he,  ‘ all  is  as 
it  ought  to  be  ! you  are  my  only  hope.  Consent  to  be  mine,  or 
the  world  has  no  hold  on  me  ! ’ His  voice  was  hurried  and  in- 
coherent. Raising  my  eyes  to  his,  I beheld  them  wild  and 
bloodshot.  Terrified  at  his  look,  and  overcome  by  my  own  dis- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


25' 

tracted  thoughts,  my  head  sunk  on  the  marble.  With  increased 
violence  he  exclaimed,  ‘ Have  I deceived  myself  here  too  ? 
Therese,  did  you  not  prefer  me  ? Did  you  not  love  me  ? Speak 
now,  I conjure  you,  by  your  own  happiness  and  mine  ! Do  you 
reject  me  ? ^ He  clasped  my  hands  with  a force  that  made  me 
tremble,  and  I hardly  articulated,  ‘ I will  be  yours.’  At  these 
words  he  hurried  me  down  a dark  vista,  which  led  out  of  the 
gardens  to  the  open  country.  A carriage  stood  at  the  gate.  I 
fearfully  asked  what  he  intended.  ‘ You  have  given  yourself  to 
me,’  cried  he , ‘ and  by  that  vow,  written  in  heaven,  no  power 
shall  separate  us  until  you  are  mine  beyond  the  reach  of  man  ! ’ 
Unnerved  in  body  and  weak  in  mind,  I yielded  to  his  impetu- 
osity, and  suffering  him  to  lift  me  into  the  chariot,  was  carried 
to  the  door  of  the  nearest  monastery,  where  in  a few  minutes 
we  were  married. 

“ I am  thus  particular  in  the  relation  of  every  incident,  in 
the  hope  that  you,  my  dear  son,  will  find  some  excuse  fonimy 
great  imprudence, — in  the  circumstances  of  my  youth,  and  in 
the  influence  which  a man  who  seemed  all  excellence  had 
gained  over  my  heart.  However,  my  fault  went  not  long 
unpunished. 

The  ceremony  past,  my  husband  conducted  me  in  silence 
back  to  the  carriage.  My  full  bosom  discharged  itself  in  abun- 
dance of  tears,  while  Sackville  sat  by  me,  without  any  movement, 
and  mute.  Two  or  three  times  I raised  my  eyes,  in  hopes  of 
discerning  in  his  some  consolation  for  my  hasty  compliance. 
But  no  ; his  gaze,  vacant  and  glaring,  was  fixed  on  the  window, 
and  his  brow  became  heavily  clouded,  as  if  he  had  been  forced 
into  an  alliance  with  one  he  hated,  rather  than  had  just  made  a 
voluntary  engagement  with  the  woman  he  loved.  My  soul  shud- 
dered at  this  commencement  of  a contract  which  I had  dared 
to  make  unsanctioned  by  my  father’s  consent.  At  length  my 
sighs  seemed  to  startle  my  husband  ; and  suddenly  turning 
round,  he  cried,  ‘ Therese,  this  marriage  must  not  be  told  to 
the  palatine.  I have  been  precipitate.  It  would  ruin  me  with 
my  family.  Refrain,  only  for  one  month,  and  then  I will  publicly 
acknowledge  you.’  The  agitation  of  his  features  and  the  feverish 
burning  of  his  hand,  which  then  held  mine,  alarmed  me.  Trem- 
bling from  head  to  foot,  I answered,  ‘ Sackville  ! I have  already 
erred  enough  in  consenting  to  this  stolen  marriage.  I will  not 
transgress  further  by  concealing  it.  I will  instantly  throw  m3'self 
at  my  father’s  feet,  and  confess  all.’  His  countenance  darkened 
again.  ^ Therese,’ said  he,  'lam  your  husband.  You  have 
sworn  to  obey  me,  and  till  I allow  you,  divulge  this  marriage  at 


26 


THADDEUS  OF  IVARSAIV. 


your  peril  ! ’ This  last  stern  sentence,  and  the  sterner  look 
that  accompanied  it,  pierced  me  to  the  heart,  and  I fell  sense^ 
less  on  the  seat. 

When  I recovered,  I found  myself  at  the  foot  of  that 
statue  beneath  which  my  unfortunate  destiny  had  been  fixed. 
My  husband  was  leaning  over  me.  He  raised  me  with  tender- 
ness from  the  ground,  and  conjured  me,  in  the  mildest  accents, 
to  be  comforted ; to  pardon  the  severity  of  those  words,  which 
had  arisen  from  a fear  that,  by  an  imprudent  avowal  on  my 
part,  I should  risk  both  his  happiness  and  my  own.  He  in- 
formed me  that  he  was  heir  to  one  of  the  first  families  in 
England ; and  before  he  set  out  for  the  continent,  he  had 
pledged  his  honor  to  his  father  never  to  enter  into  any  matri- 
monial engagement  without  first  acquainting  him  with  the 
particulars  of  the  lady  and  her  family.  Should  he  omit  this 
duty,  his  father  declared  that,  though  she  were  a princess, 
he  would  disinherit  -him,  and  never  again  admit  him  to  his 
prefence. 

“ ‘ Consider  this,  my  dear  Therese,’  continued  he  ; ‘could 
you  endure  to  behold  me  an  outcast,  and  stigmatized  with  a 
parent’s  curse,  when  a little  forbearance  on  your  part  would 
make  all  right  ? I know  I have  been  hasty  in  acting  as  I have 
done,  but  now  I cannot  remedy  my  error.  To-morrow  I will 
write  to  my  father,  describe  your  rank  and  merits,  and  request 
his  consent  to  our  immediate  union.  The  moment  his  permis- 
sion arrives,  I will  cast  myself  on  the  palatine’s  friendship,  and 
reveal  what  has  passed.  The  tenderness  of  my  husband  blinded 
my  reason,  and  with  many  tears,  I sealed  his  forgiveness  and 
pledged  my  faith  on  his  word. 

“ My  dear  deceived  parent  little  suspected  the  perfidy  of 
his  guest.  He  detained  him  as  his  visitor,  and  often  rallied 
himself  on  the  hold  which  this  distinguished  stranger’s  accom- 
plishments had  taken  on  his  heart.  Sackville’s  manner  to  me 
in  public  was  obliging  and  free  ; it  was  in  private  only  that  I 
found  the  tender,  the  capricious,  the  unkind  husband.  Night 
after  night  I have  washed  the  memory  of  my  want  of  duty  to 
my  father  with  bitter  tears ; but  my  husband  was  dear  to  me — 
he  was  more  precious  than  my  life  ! One  affectionate  look 
from  him,  one  fond  word,  would  solace  every  pain,  and  make 
me  wait  the  arrival  of  his  father’s  letter  with  all  the  sanguine 
anticipations  of  youth  and  love. 

“ A fortnight  passed  away.  A month — a long  and  linger- 
ing month.  Another  month,  and  a packet  of  letters  was  pre- 
sented to  Sackville,  He  was  conversing  with  us.  At  sight  of 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


27 


the  superscription,  he  tore  open  the  paper,  ran  his  eyes  over  a 
few  lines,  and  then,  flushed  and  agitated,  started  from  his  seat 
and  left  the  room.  My  emotions  were  almost  uncontrollable. 
I had  already  half  risen  from  my  chair  to  follow  him,  when  the 
palatine  exclaimed,  ‘What  can  be  in  that  letter?  Too  plainly 
[ see  some  afflicting  tidings.’  And  without  observing  me,  or 
waiting  for  a reply,  he  hurried  out  after  him.  I hastened  to 
my  chamber,  where,  throwing  myself  on  my  bed,  I tried,  by  all 
the  delusions  of  hope,  to  obtain  some  alleviation  from  the 
pangs  of  my  suspense. 

“ The  dinner-bell  roused  me  from  my  reverie.  Dreading  to 
excite  suspicion,  and  anxious  to  read  in  the  countenance  of  my 
husband  the  denunciation  of  our  fate,  I obeyed  the  summons 
and  descended  to  the  dining-room.  On  entering  it,  my  eyes 
irresistibly  wandered  round  to  fix  themselves  on  Sackville.  He 
was  leaning  against  a pillar,  his  face  pale  as  death.  My  father 
looked  grave,  but  immediately  took  his  seat,  and  tenderly  placed 
his  friend  beside  him.  I sat  down  in  silence.  Little  dinner 
was  eaten,  and  few  words  spoken.  As  for  myself,  my  agitation 
almost  choked  me.  I felt  that  the  first  words  I should  attempt 
to  pronounce  must  give  them  utterance,  and  that  their  vehe- 
mence would  betray  our  fatal  secret. 

“When  the  servants  had  withdrawn,  Sackville  rose,  and 
said,  in  a faltering  voice,  ‘Count,  I must  leave  you.’  ‘Nay,’ 
replied  the  palatine  ; ‘ you  are  unwell — disturbed — stay  till  to- 
morrow.’ ‘ I thank  your  excellency,’  answered  he,  ‘but  I must 
go  to  Florence  to-night.  You  shall  see  me  again  before  to- 
morrow afternoon;  all  will  then,  I hope,  be  settled  to  my  wish.’ 
My  husband  took  his  hat.  Motionless,  and  incapable  of  speak- 
ing, I sat  fixed  to  my  chair,  in  the  direct  way  that  he  must  pass. 
Flis  eye  met  mine.  He  stopped  and  looked  at  me,  abruptly 
snatched  my  hand  ; then  as  abruptly  quitting  it,  darted  out  of 
the  room.  I never  saw  him  more. 

“ I had  not  the  power  to  dissemble  another  moment.  I fell 
back  into  the  arms  of  my  father.  He  did  not,  even  by  this  im- 
prudence, read  what  I almost  wished  him  to  guess,  but,  with 
all  the  indulgence  of  perfect  confidence,  lamented  the  distress 
of  Sackville,  and  the  sensibility  of  my  nature,  which  sympathized 
so  painfully  with  his  friend.  I durst  not  ask  what  was  the  dis- 
tress of  his  friend.  Abashed  at  my  duplicity  to  my  father,  and 
overwhelmed  with  a thousand  dreads,  I obtained  his  permission 
to  retire  to  my  chamber. 

“ The  next  day  I met  him  with  calmness,  for  I had  schooled 
my  heart  to  endure  the  sufferings  it  had  deserved.  He  did 


28 


TI/ADDEL^S  OF  WARSAW. 


not  remark  my  recovered  tranquillity,  so  entirely  was  his  gen- 
erous heart  occupied  in  conjecturing  the  cause  of  Sackville’s 
grief,  who  had  acknowledged  having  received  a great  shock, 
but  would  not  reveal  the  occasion.  This  double  reserve  to  my 
father  surprised  and  distressed  me,  and  to  all  his  suppositions 
I said  little.  My  soul  was  too  deeply  interested  in  the  subject 
to  trust  to  the  faithfulness  of  my  lips. 

The  morning  crept  slowly  on,  and  the  noon  appeared  to 
stand  still.  I anxiously  watched  the  declining  sun,  as  the  sig- 
nal for  my  husband’s  return.  Two  hours  had  elapsed  since  his 
promised  time,  and  my  father  grew  so  impatient  that  he  went 
out  to  meet  him.  I eagerly  wished  that  they  might  miss  each 
other.  I should  then  see  Sackville  a few  minutes  alone,  and  by 
one  word  be  comforted  or  driven  to  despair. 

“ I was  listening  to  every  footstep  that  sounded  under  the 
colonnade,  when  my  servant  brought  me  a letter  which  had 
just  been  left  by  one  of  Mr.  Sackville’s  grooms.  I broke  open 
the  seal,  and  fell  senseless  on  the  floor  ere  I had  read  half  the 
killing  contents.” 

Thaddeus,  with  a burning  cheek,  and  a heart  all  at  once 
robbed  of  that  elastic  spring  which  till  now  had  ever  made  him 
the  happiest  of  the  happy,  took  up  the  letter  of  his  father. 
The  paper  was  worn,  and  blistered  with  his  mother’s  tears. 
His  head  seemed  to  swim  as  he  contemplated  the  handwriting, 
and  he  said  to  himself,  ‘‘  Am  I to  respect  or  to  abhor  him  ? 
He  proceeded  in  the  perusal. 

To  Therese,  Countess  Sobieski. 

How,  Therese,  am  I to  address  you  ? But  an  attempt  to 
palliate  my  conduct  would  be  to  no  purpose  ; indeed  it  is  im- 
possible. You  cannot  conceive  a viler  opinion  of  me  than  I 
have  of  myself.  I know  that  I forfeit  all  claim  to  honor,  in  the 
most  delicate  point  of  your  noble  and  trusting  heart ! — that  1 
have  sacrificed  your  tenderness  to  my  distracted  passions  ; but 
you  shall  no  more  be  subject  to  the  caprices  of  a man  who  cam 
not  repay  your  innocent  love  with  his  own.  Vote  have  no  guilt 
to  torture  you ; and  you  possess  virtues  which  will  render  you 
tranquil  under  ev^ery  calamity.  I leave  you  to  your  own  purity, 
and,  therefore,  peace  of  mind.  Forget  the  ceremony  which  has 
passed  between  us  ; my  wretched  heart  disclaims  it  forever. 
Your  father  is  happily  ignorant  of  it;  pray  spare  him ' the 
anguish  of  knowing  that  I was  so  utterly  unworthy  of  his  kind- 
ness ; I feel  that  I am  more  than  ungrateful  to  you  and  to  him. 
Therese,  your  most  inveterate  hate  cannot  more  strongly  tell 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


29 


me  than  I can  tell  myself  that  to  you  I have  been  a villain. 
But  I cannot  retract.  I am  going  where  all  search  will  be  vain  ; 
and  I now  bid  you  an  eternal  farewell.  May  you  be  happier 
than  ever  can  be  the  self-abhorring. 

“ R.  S . 

“ Florence.” 

Thaddeus,  after  a brief  pause,  went  on  with  his  mother’s 
narrative. 

When  my  senses  returned,  I was  lying  on  the  floor,  hold- 
ing the  half-perused  paper  in  my  hand.  Grief  and  horror  had 
locked  up  the  avenues  of  complaint,  and  I sat  as  one  petrified 
to  stone-  My  father  entered.  At  the  sight  of  me,  he  started 
as  if  he  had  been  a spectre.  His  well-known  features  opened 
at  once  my  agonized  heart.  With  fearful  cries  I cast  myself  at 
his  feet,  and  putting  the  letter  into  his  hand,  clung,  almost  ex- 
piring, to  his  knees. 

“ When  he  had  read  it,  he  flung  it  from  him,  and  dropping 
into  a chair,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  I looked  up  im- 
ploringly, for  I could  not  speak.  My  father  stooped  forward, 
and  raising  me  in  his  arms,  pressed  me  to  his  bosom.  ‘ My 
Therese,’'said  he,  ‘it  is  I who  have  done  this.  Had  I not  har- 
bored this  villain,  he  never  could  have  had  an  opportunity  of 
ruining  the  peace  of  my  child.’  In  return  for  the  unexampled 
indulgence  of  this  speech,  and  his  repeated  assurances  of  for- 
giveness, I promised  to  forget  a man  who  could  have  had  so 
little  respect  for  truth  and  gratitude,  and  his  own  honor.  The 
palatine  replied  that  he  expected  such  a resolution,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  principles  my  exemplary  mother  had  taught  me  \ 
and  to  show  me  how  far  dearer  to  him  was  my  real  tranquillity 
than  any  false  idea  of  impossible  restitution,  he  would  not  re- 
move even  from  one  principality  to  another,  were  he  sure  by 
that  means  to  discover  Mr.  Sackville  and  to  avenge  my  wrongs. 
My  understanding  assented  to  the  justice  and  dignity  of  all  he 
said  ; but  long  and  severe  were  my  struggles  before  I could 
erase  from  my  soul  the  image  of  that  being  who  had  been  the 
lord  of  all  my  young  hopes. 

“ It  was  not  until  you,  my  dear  Thaddeus,  were  born  that  I 
could  repay  the  goodness  of  my  father  with  the  smiles  of  cheer- 
fulness. And  he  would  not  permit  me  to  give  you  any  name 
which  could  remind  him  or  myself  of  the  faithless  husband  who 
knew  not  even  of  your  existence ; and  by  his  desire  I christened 
you  Thaddeus  Constantine,  after  himself,  and  his  best  beloved 
friend  General  Kosciusko.  You  have  not  yet  seen  that  illustri- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 


30 

ous  Polander  ; his  prescient  watchfulness  for  his  country  keeps 
him  so  constantly  employed  on  the  frontiers.  He  is  now  with 
the  army  at  Winnica,  whither  you  must  soon  go  ; and  in  him 
you  may  study  one  of  the  brightest  models  of  patriotic  and  mar- 
tial virtue  that  ever  was  presented  to  mankind.  It  is  well  said 
of  him  ‘ that  he  would  have  shone  with  distinguished  lustre  in 
the  ages  of  chivalry.’  Gallant,  generous,  and  strictly  just,  he 
commands  obedience  by  the  reverence  in  which  he  is  held,  and 
attaches  the  troops  to  his  person -by  the  affability  of  his  man- 
ners and  the  purity  of  his  life.  He  teaches  them  discipline, 
endurance  of  fatigue,  and  contempt  of  danger,  by  his  dauntless 
example,  and  inspires  them  with  confidence  by  his  tranquillity 
in  the  tumult  of  action  and  the  invincible  fortitude  with  which 
he  meets  the  most  adverse  stroke  of  misfortune.  His  modesty 
in  victory  shows  him  to  be  one  of  the  greatest  among  men,  and 
his  magnanimity  under  defeat  confirms  him  to  be  a Christian 
hero. 

“ Such  is  the  man  whose  name  you  share.  How  bitterly  do 
I lament  that  the  one  to  which  nature  gave  you  a claim  was  so 
unworthy  to  be  united  with  it,  and  that  of  my  no  less  heroic 
father  ! 

“ On  our  return  to  Poland,  the  story  which  the  palatine  re- 
lated, when  questioned  about  my  apparently  forlorn  state,  was 
simply  this  : — ‘ My  daughter  was  married  and  widowed  in  the 
course  o'f  two  months.  Since  then,  to  root  from  her  memory  as 
much  as  possible  all  recollection  of  a husband  who  was  only 
given  to  be  taken  away,  she  still  retains  my  name  ; and  her  son, 
as  my  sole  heir,  shall  bear  no  other.’  This  reply  satisfied  every 
one  ; the  king,  who  was  my  father’s  only  confidant,  gave  his 
sanction  to  it,  and  no  further  inquiries  were  ever  made. 

‘‘You  are  now,  my  beloved  child,  entering  on  the  eventful 
career  of  life.  God  only  knows,  when  the  venerable  head  of 
your  grandfather  is  laid  in  dust,  and  I,  too,  have  shut  my  eyes 
upon  you  in  this  world,  where  destiny  may  send  you  ! perhaps 
to  the  country  of  your  father.  Should  you  ever  meet  him — but 
that  is  unlikely  ; so  I will  be  silent  on  a thought  which  nineteen 
years  of  reflection  have  not  yet  deprived  of  its  sting. 

“ Not  to  embitter  the  fresh  spring  of  your  youth,  my  Thad- 
deus,  with  the  draught  that  has  poisoned  mine  : not  to  implant 
in  your  breast  hatred  of  a parent  whom  you  may  never  behold, 
have  I written  this  ; but  to  inform  you  in  fact  from  whom  you 
sprung.  My  history  is  made  plain  to  you,  that  no  unexpected 
events  may  hereafter  perplex  your  opinion  of  your  mother,  or 
cause  a blush  to  rise  on  that  cheek  for  her,  which  from  your 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


31 

grandfather  can  derive  no  stain.  For  his  sake  as  well  as  for 
mine,  whether  in  peace  or  in  war,  may  the  angels  of  heaven 
guard  my  boy  ! This  is  the  unceasing  prayer  of  thy  fond 
mother, 

“ Therese,  Countess  Sobieski. 

“ ViLLANOW,  March,  1792.” 

When  he  finished  reading,  Thaddeus  held  the  papers  in  his 
hand ; but,  unable  to  recover  from  the  shock  of  their  contents, 
he  read  them  a second  time  to  the  end ; then  laying  them  on 
the  table,  against  which  he  rested  his  now  aching  head,  he  gave 
vent  to  the  fulness  of  his  heart  in  tears. 

The  countess,  anxious  for  the  effect  which  her  history  might 
have  made  on  her  son,  at  this  instant  entered  the  room.  Seeing 
him  in  so  dejected  an  attitude,  she  approached,  and  pressing  him 
to  her  bosom,  silently  wept  with  him.  Thaddeus,  ashamed  of 
his  emotions,  yet  incapable  of  dissembling  them,  struggled  a 
moment  to  release  himself  from  her  arms.  The  countess,  mis- 
taking his  motive,  said  in  a melancholy  voice,  ‘‘  And  do  you, 
my  son,  despise  your  mother  for  the  weakness  which  she  has 
revealed  ? Is  this  the  reception  that  I expected  from  a child 
on  whose  affection  I reposed  my  confidence  and  my  comfort  1 

“ No,  my  mother,’’  replied  Thaddeus  ; “ it  is  your  afflictions 
which  have  distressed  me.  This  is  the  first  unhappy  hour  I 
ever  knew,  and  can  you  wonder  I should  be  affected  ? Oh  ! 
mother,”  continued  he,  laying  his  hand  on  his  father’s  letter, 
whatever  were  his  rank,  had  my  father  been  but  noble  in  mind, 
I would  have  gloried  in  bearing  his  name ; but  now,  I put  up 
my  prayers  never  to  hear  it  more.” 

‘‘  Forget  him,”  cried  the  countess,  hiding  her  eyes  with  her 
handkerchief. 

I will,”  answered  Thaddeus,  and  allow  my  memory  to 
dwell  on  the  virtues  of  my  mother  only.” 

It  was  impossible  for  the  countess  or  her  son  to  conceal 
their  agitation  from  the  palatine,  who  now  opened  the  door. 
On  his  expressing  alarm  at  a sight  so  unusual,  his  daughter, 
finding  herself  incapable  of  speaking,  put  into  his  hand  the 
letter  which  Thaddeus  had  just  read.  Sobieski  cast  his  eye 
over  the  first  lines  ; he  comprehended  their  tendency,  and  see- 
ing the  countess  had  withdrawn,  he  looked  towards  his  grand- 
son. Thaddeus  was  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  striving 
to  command  himself  for  the  conversation  he  anticipated  with 
his  grandfather. 

“ I am  sorry,  Thaddeus,”  said  Sobieski,  “ that  your  mother 


32 


TITADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 


has  so  abruptly  imparted  to  you  the  real  country  and  character 
of  your  father.  I see  that  his  villany  has  distressed  a heart 
which  Heaven  has  made  alive  to  even  the  slightest  appearance 
of  dishonor.  But  be  consoled,  my  son]  I have  prevented  the 
publicity  of  his  conduct  by  an  ambiguous  story  of  your  mother’s 
widowhood.  Yet  notwithstanding  this  arrangement,  she  has 
judged  it  proper  that  you  should  not  enter  general  society 
without  being  made  acquainted  with  the  true  events  of  your 
birth.  I believe  my  daughter  is  right.  And  cheer  yourself,  my 
child  ! ever  remembering  that  you  are  one  of  the  noblest  race 
in  Poland  ! and  suffer  not  the  vices  of  one  parent  to  dim  the 
virtues  of  the  other.” 

“No,  my  lord,”  answered  his  grandson;  “you  have  been 
more  than  a parent  to  me  ; and  henceforward,  for  your  sake  as 
well  as  my  own,  I shall  hold  it  my  duty  to  forget  that  I draw 
my  being  from  any  other  source  than  that  of  the  house  of 
Sobieski.” 

“ You  are  right,”  cried  the  palatine,  with  an  exulting  emotion ; 
“ you  have  the  spirit  of  your  ancestors,  and  I shall  live  to  see 
you  add  glory  to  the  name  ! ” ^ 

The  beaming  eyes  and  smiling  lips  of  the  young  count  de- 
clared that  he  had  shaken  sorrow  from  his  heart.  Plis  grand- 
father pressed  his  hand  with  delight,  and  saw  in  his  recovered 
serenity  the  sure  promise  of  his  fond  prophecy. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  MILL  OF  MARIEMONT. 

The  fearful  day  arriv^ed  when  Sobieski  and  his  grandson 
were  to  bid  adieu  to  Villanow  and  its  peaceful  scenes. 

The  well-poised  mind  of  the  veteran  bade  his  daughter  fare- 
well with  a fortitude  which  imparted  scTme  of  its  strength  even 
to  her.  But  when  Thaddeus,  ready  habited  for  his  journey,  en- 
tered the  room,  at  the  sight  of  his  military  accoutrements  she 

John  Sobieski,  King  of  Poland,  was  the  most  renowned  sovereign  of  his  time.  His 
victories  over  the  Tartars  and  the  Turks  obtained  for  him  the  admiration  of  Europe.  Would 
it  might  be  said,  ‘''the  gratitude  also  of  her  posterity!  ” For  his  signal  courage  and  won- 
drous generalship  on  the  field  of  Vienna,  against  the  lajter  Mohammedan  power,  rescued 
Austria,  and  the  chief  part  of  Christendom  at  that  time,  from  their  ruinous  grasp.  Where 
was  the  memory  of  these  things,  when  the  Austrian  emperor  marched  his  devastating  legions 
into  Poland,  in  the  year  1793  ? 


THADJJEUS:  OF  tVAFSAW. 


33 


shuddered  ; and  when,  with  a glowing  countenance,  he  ad- 
vanced, smiling  through  his  tears,  towards  her,  she  clasped  him 
in  her  arms,  and  riveted  her  lips  to  that  face  the  very  loveliness 
of  which  added  to  her  affliction.  She  gazed  at  him,  she  wept 
on  his  neck,  she  pressed  him  to  her  bosom.  “ Oh  ! how  soon 
might  all  that  beauty  be  mingled  with  the  dust  ! how  soon 
might  that  warm  heart,  which  then  beat  against  hers,  be  pierced 
by  the  sword — be  laid  on  the  ground,  mangled  and  bleeding, 
exposed  and  trampled  on  ! ’’  These  thoughts  thronged  upon 
her  soul,  and  deprived  her  of  sense.  She  was  borne  away  by 
her  maids,  while  the  palatine  compelled  Thaddeus  to  quit  the 
spot. 

It  was  not  until  the  lofty  battlements  of  Villanow  blended 
with  the  clouds  that  Thaddeus  could  throw  off  his  melancholy. 
The  parting  grief  of  his  mother  hung  on  his  spirits ; and  heavy 
and  frequent  were  his  sighs  while  he  gazed  on  the  rustic  cot- 
tages and  fertile  fields,  which  reminded  him  that  he  was  yet  pass- 
ing through  the  territories  of  his  grandfather.  The  picturesque 
mill  of  Mariemont  was  the  last  spot  on  which  his  sight  lingered. 
The  ivy  that  mantled  its  sides  sparkled  with  the  brightness  of 
a shower  which  had  just  fallen;  and  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun, 
gleaming  on  its  shattered  wall,  made  it  an  object  of  such  roman- 
tic beauty,  that  he  could  not  help  pointing  it  out  to  his  fellow- 
travellers. 

Whilst  the  eyes  of  General  Butzou,  who  was  in  the  carriage, 
followed  the  direction  of  Thaddeus,  the  palatine  observed  the 
heightening  animation  of  the  old  man’s  features  ; and  recollect- 
ing at  the  same  time  the  transports  which  he  himself  had  en- 
joyed when  he  visited  that  place  more  than  twenty  years  before, 
he  put  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  veteran,  and  exclaimed, 
“ General,  did  you  ever  relate  to  my  boy  the  particulars  of  that 
mill?” 

No,  my  lord.” 

“ I suppose,”  continued  the  palatine,  the  same  reason  de- 
terred you  from  speaking  of  it,  uncalled  for,  as  lessened  my 
wish  to  tell  the  story  ? We  are  both  too  much  the  heroes  of 
the  tale  to  have  volunteered  the  recital.” 

“ Does  your  excellency  mean,”  asked  Thaddeus,  the  rescue 
of  our  king  from  this  place  ? ” 

I do.” 

“ I have  an  indistinct  knowledge  of  the  affair,”  continued 
his  grandson,  “from  I forget  who,  and  should  be  grateful  to 
hear  it  clearly  told  me,  while  thus  looking  on  the  very  spot.” 

“ But,”  said  the  palatine,  gayly,  whose  object  was  to  draw 


34 


THADDEUS  OF  l^ARSAH^, 


his  grandson  from  melancholy  reflections,  ‘‘  vvhal  will  you  say  to 
me  turning  egotist  ? ” 

“ 1 now  ask  the  story  of  you,”  returned  Thaddeus,  smiling  ; 
besides,  as  soldiers  are  permitted  by  their  peaceful  hearth  to 
‘ fight  their  battles  o’er  again,’  your  modesty,  my  dear  grand- 
father, cannot  object  to  repeat  one  to  me  on  the  way  to  more/’ 

“ Then,  as  a preliminary,”  said  the  palatine,  “ 1 must  sup- 
pose it  is  unnecessary  to  tell  you  that  General  Butzou  was  the 
brave  soldier  who,  at  the  imminent  risk  of  his  own  life,  saved 
our  sovereign.” 

Yes,  1 know  that ! ” replied  the  young  count,  and  that 
you  too  had  a share  in  the  honor ; for  when  I was  yesterday 
presented  to  his  majesty,  amongst  other  things  which  he  said, 
he  told  me  that,  under  Heaven,  he  believed  he  owed  his  present 
existence  to  General  Butzou  and  yourself.” 

“ So  very  little  to  me,”  resumed  the  palatine,  that  I will, 
to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  repeat  every  circumstance  of  the 
affair.  Should  I err,  I must  beg  of  you,  general  ” (turning  to 
the  veteran),  to  put  me  right.” 

Butzou,  with  a glow  of  honest  exultation,  nodded  assent ; 
and  Thaddeus  bowing  in  sign  of  attention,  his  smiling  grandsire 
began. 

It  was  on  a Sunday  night,  the  3d  of  September,  in  the 
year  1771,  that  this  event  took  place.  At  that  time,  instigated 
by  the  courts  of  Vienna  and  Constantinople,  a band  of  traitor- 
ous lords,  confederated  together,  were  covertly  laying  waste  the 
country,  and  perpetrating  all  kinds  of  unsuspected  outrage  on 
their  fellow-subjects  who  adhered  to  the  king. 

Amongst  their  numerous  crimes,  a plan  was  laid  for  sur- 
prising and  taking  the  royal  person.  Casimir  Pulaski  was  the 
most  daring  of  their  leaders ; and,  assisted  by  Lukawski,  Stra- 
wenski,  and  Kosinski,  three  Poles  unworthy  of  their  names,  he 
resolved  to  accomplish  his  design  or  perish.  Accordingly,  these 
men,  with  forty  other  conspirators,  in  the  presence  of  their  com- 
mander swore  with  the  most  horrid  oaths  to  deliver  Stanislaus 
alive  or  dead  into  his  hands. 

“About  a month  after  this  meeting,  these  three  parricides 
of  their  country,  at  the  head  of  their  coadjutor.-.,  disguised  as 
peasants,  and  concealing  their  arms  in  wagons  of  hay,  which 
they  drove  before  them,  entered  the  suburbs  of  Warsaw  unde- 
tected. 

“ It  was  about  ten  o’clock  p.  m.,  on  the  3d  of  September,  as 
I have  told  you,  they  found  an  apt  opportunity  to  execute  their 
scheme.  They  placed  themselves,  under  cover  of  the  night,  in 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


35 

those  avenues  of  the  city  through  which  they  knew  his  majesty 
must  pass  in  his  way  from  Villanow,  where  he  had  been  dining 
with  me.  His  carriage  was  escorted  by  four  of  his  own  guards, 
besides  myself  and  some  of  mine.  We  had  scarcely  lost  sight 
of  Villanow,  when  the  conspirators  rushed  out  and  surrounded 
us,  commanding  the  coachman  to  stop,  and  beating  down  the 
serving  men  with  the  butt  ends  of  their  muskets.  Several  shots 
were  fired  into  the  coach.  One  passed  through  my  hat  as  1 
was  getting  out,  sword  in  hand,  the  better  to  repel  an  attack 
the  motive  of  which  I could  not  then  divine.  A cut  across  my 
right  leg  with  a sabre  laid  me  under  the  wheels  ; and  whilst  in 
that  situation,  I heard  the  shot  pouring  into  the  coach  like  hail, 
and  felt  the  villains  stepping  over  my  body  to  finish  the  murder 
of  their  sovereign. 

“ It  was  then  that  our  friend  Butzou  (who  at  that  period 
was  a private  soldier  in  my  service)  stood  between  his  majesty 
and  the  rebels,  parrying  many  a stroke  aimed  at  the  king ; but 
at  last,  a thrust  from  a bayonet  into  his  gallant  defender’s  breast 
cast  him  weltering  in  his  blood  upon  me.  By  this  time  all  the 
persons  who  had  formed  the  escort  were  either  wounded  or  dis- 
persed, and  George  Butzou,  our  friend’s  only  brother,  was  slain. 
So  dropped  one  by  one  the  protectors  of  our  trampled  bodies 
and  of  our  outraged  monarch.  Secure  then  of  their  prey,  one 
of  the  assassins  opened  the  carriage  door,  and  with  shocking 
imprecations  seizing  the  king,  discharged  his  pistol  so  near  his 
majesty’s  face,  that  he  felt  the  heat  of  the  flash.  A second  vil- 
lain cut  him  on  the  forehead  with  a sabre,  whilst  the  third,  who 
was  on  horseback,  laying  hold  of  the  king’s  collar,  dragged  him 
along  the  ground  through  the  suburbs  of  the  city. 

‘‘  During  the  latter  part  of  this  murderous  scene,  some  of 
our  affrighted  people,  who  had  fled,  returned  with  a detachment, 
and  seeing  Butzou  and  me  apparently  lifeless,  carried  us  to  the 
royal  palace,  where  all  was  commotion  and  distraction.  But 
the  foot-guards  followed  the  track  which  the  conspirators  had 
taken.  In  one  of  the  streets  they  found  the  king’s  hat  dyed  in 
blood,  and  his  pelisse  also.  This  confirmed  their  apprehen- 
sions of  his  death  ; and  they  came  back  filling  all  Warsaw  with 
dismay. 

“ The  assassins,  meanwhile,  got  clear  of  the  town.  Finding, 
however,  that  the  king,  by  loss  of  blood,  was  not  likely  to  exist 
much  longer  by  dragging  him  towards  their  employer,  and  that 
delay  might  even  lose  them  his  dead  body,  they  mounted  him, 
and  redoubled  their  speed.  When  they  came  to  the  moat,  they 
compelled  him  to  leap  his  horse  across  it.  In  the  attempt  the 


36  THADDEUS  OF  IVARSA  W, 

horse  fell  and  broke  its  leg.  They  then  ordered  his  majesty, 
fainting  as  he  was,  to  mount  another  and  spur  it  over.  The 
conspirators  had  no  sooner  passed  the  ditch,  and  saw  their  king 
fall  insensible  on  the  neck  of  his  horse,  than  they  tore  from  his 
breast  the  ribbon  of  the  black  eagle,  and  its  diamond  cross. 
Lukawski  was  so  foolishly  sure  of  his  prisoner,  dead  or  alive, 
that  he  (Quitted  his  charge,  and  repaired  with  these  spoils  to 
Pulaski,  meaning  to  show  them  as  proofs  of  his  success.  Many 
of  the  other  plunderers,  concluding  that  they  could  not  do  better 
than  follow  their  leader’s  example,  fled  also,  tired  of  their  work, 
leaving  only  seven  of  the  party,  with  Kosinski  at  their  head,  to 
remain  over  the  unfortunate  Stanislaus,  who  shortly  after  re^ 
covered  from  his  swoon. 

“ The  night  was  now  grown  so  dark,  they  could  not  be  sure 
of  their  way ; and  their  horses  stumbling  at  every  step,  over 
stumps  of  trees  and  hollows  in  the  earth,  increased  their  appre- 
hensions to  such  a degree,  that  they  obliged  the  king  to  keep 
up  with  them  on  foot.  He  literally  marked  his  path  with 
his  blood  ; his  shoes  having  been  torn  oft*  in  the  struggle  at  the 
carriage.  Thus  they  continued  wandering  backward  and  for- 
ward, and  round  the  outskirts  of  Warsaw,  without  any  exact 
knowledge  of  their  situation.  The  men  who  guarded  him  at 
last  became  so  afraid  of  their  prisoner’s  taking  advantage  of 
these  circumstances  to  escape,  that  they  repeatedly  called  on 
Kosinski  for  orders  to  put  him  to  death.  Kosinski  refused 
but  their  demands  growing  more  imperious,  as  the  intricacies 
of  the  forest  involved  them  completely,  the  king  expected  every 
moment  to  find  their  bayonets  in  his  breast. 

“ Meanwhile,”  continued  the  palatine,  “ when  I recovered 
from  my  swoon  in  the  palace,  my  leg  had  been  bound  up,  and 
I felt  able  to  stir.  Questioning  the  officers  who  stood  about 
my  couch,  I found  that  a general  panic  had  seized  them.  The) 
knew  not  how  to  proceed  ; they  shuddered  at  leaving  the  king 
to  the  mercy  of  the  confederates,  and  yet  were  fearful,  by  pur 
suing  him  further,  to  incense  them  through  terror  or  revenge  to 
massacre  their  prisoner,  if  he  were  still  alive.  I did  all  that 
was  in  my  power  to  dispel  this  last  dread.  Anxious,  at  any 
rate,  to  make  another  attempt  to  preserve^  him,  though  I could 
not  ride  myself,  I strenuously  advised  an  immediate  pursuit  on 
horseback,  and  insisted  that  neither  darkness  nor  apprehension 
of  increasing  danger  should  be  permitted  to  impede  their  course. 
Recovered  presence  of  mind  in  the  nobles  restored  hope  and 
animation  to  the  terrified  soldiers,  and  my  orders  were  obeyed. 
But  I must  add,  they  were  soon  disappointed,  for  in  less  than 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


37 


half  an  hour  the  detachment  returned  in  despair,  showing  me 
his  majesty’s  coat,  which  they  had  found  in  the  fosse.  I sup- 
pose the  ruffians  tore  it  off  when  they  rifled  him.  It  was  rent 
in  several  places,  and  so  wet  with  blood  that  the  officer  who 
presented  it  to  me  concluded  they  had  murdered  the  king 
there,  and  drawn  away  his  body,  for  by  the  light  of  the  torches 
’ the  soldiers  could  trace  drops  of  blood  to  a considerable 
distance. 

Whilst  I was  attempting  to  invalidate  this  new  evidence 
of  his  majesty’s  being  beyond  the  reach  of  succor,  he  was  driven 
before  the  seven  conspirators  so  far  into  the  wood  of  Bielany, 
that,  not  knowing  whither  they  went,  they  came  up  with  one  of 
the  guard-houses,  and,  to  their  extreme  terror,  were  accosted 
by  a patrol.  Four  of  the  banditti  immediately  disappeared, 
leaving  two  only  with  Kosinski,  who,  much  alarmed,  forced  his 
prisoner  to  walk  faster  and  keep  a profound  silence.  Notwith- 
standing all  this  precaution,  scarce  a quarter  of  an  hour  after- 
wards they  were  challenged  by  a second  watch ; and  the  other 
two  men  taking  flight,  Kosinski,  full  of  indignation  at  their  de- 
sertion, was  leh  alone  with  the  king.  His  majesty,  sinking 
with  pain  and  fatigue,  besought  permission  to  rest  for  a moment ; 
but  Kosinski  refused,  and  pointing  his  sword  towards  the  king, 
compelled  him  to  proceed. 

As  they  walked  on,  the  insulted  monarch,  who  was  hardly 
able  to  drag  one  limb  after  the  other,  observed  that  his  con- 
ductor gradually  forgot  his  vigilance,  until  he  was  thoroughly 
given  up  to  thought.  The  king  conceived  some  hope  from  this 
change,  and  ventured  to  say  ‘ I see  that  you  know  not  how  to 
proceed.  You  cannot  but  be  aware  that  the  enterprise  in  which 
you  are  engaged,  however  it  may  end,  is  full  of  peril  to  you. 
Successful  conspirators  are  always  jealous  of  each  other.  Pu- 
laski will  find  it  as  easy  to  rid  himself  of  your  life  as  it  is  to 
take  mine.  Avoid  that  danger,  and  I will  promise  you  none  on 
my  account.  Suffer  me  to  enter  the  convent  of  Bielany : we 
cannot  be  far  from  it ; and  then,  do  you  provide  for  your  own 
. safety.’  Kosinski,  though  rendered  desperate  by  the  circum- 
stances in  which  he  was  involved,  replied,  ‘ No  ; I have  sworn, 
and  I would  rather  sacrifice  my  life  than  my  honor.’ 

“ The  king  had  neither  strength  nor  spirits  to  urge  him 
further,  and  they  continued  to  break  their  way  through  the  be- 
wildering underwood,  until  they  approached  Mariemont.  Here 
Stanislaus,  unable  to  stir  another  step,  sunk  down  at  the  foot 
of  the  old  yew-tree,  and  again  implored  for  one  moment’s  rest. 
Kosinski  no  longer  refused.  This  unexpected  humanity  encour- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


3^ 

dfged  his  majesty- to  employ  the  minutes  they  sat  together  in 
another  attempt  to  soften  his  heart,  and  to  convince  him  that 
the  oath  which  he  had  taken  was  atrocious,  and  by  no  means 
binding  to  a brave  and  virtuous  man. 

“ Kosinski  heard  him  with  attention,  and  even  showed  he 
was  affected.  ‘ But,^  said  he,  ‘ if  I should  assent  to  what  you 
propose,  and  reconduct  you  to  Warsaw,  what  will  be  the  conse- 
quence to  me  I shall  be  taken  and  executed.’  ‘ I give  you 
my  word,’  answered  the  king,  ‘ that  you  shall  not  suffer  any 
injury.  But  if  you  doubt  my  honor,  escape  while  you  can.  I 
shall  find  some  place  of  shelter,  and  will  direct  your  pursuers 
to  take  the  opposite  road  to  that  which  you  may  choose.’ 
Kosinski,  entirely  overcome,  threw  himself  on  his  knees  before 
his  majesty,  and  imploring  pardon  from  Heaven  for  what  he 
had  done,  swore  that  from  this  hour  he  would  defend  his  king 
against  all  the  conspirators,  and  trust  confidently  in  his  word 
for  future  preservation.  Stanislaus  repeated  his  promise  of 
forgiveness  and  protection,  and  directed  him  to  seek  refuge 
for  them  both  in -the  mill  near  which  they  were  discoursing. 
Kosinski  obeyed.  He  knocked,  but  no  one  gave  answer.  He 
then  broke  a pane  of  glass  in  the  window,  and  through  it  begged 
succor  for  a nobleman  who  had  been  waylaid  by  robbers.  The 
miller  refused  to  come  out,  or  to  let  the  applicants  in,  express- 
ing his  belief  that  they  were  robbers  themselves,  and  if  they  did 
not  go  away  he  would  fire  on  them. 

This  dispute  had  -continued  some  time,  when  the  king 
contrived  to  crawl  up  close  to  the  windows  and  spoke.  ‘ My 
good  friend,’' said  he,  if  we  were  banditti,  as  you  suppose,  it 
would  be  as  easy  for  us,  without  all  this  parley,  to  break  into 
your  house  as  to  break  this  pane  of  glass ; therefore,  if  you 
would  not  incur  the  shame  of  suffering  a fellow-creature  to 
perish  for  want  of  assistance,  give  us  admittance.’  This  plain 
argument  had  its  weight  upon  the  man,  and  opening  the  door, 
he  desired  them  to  enter.  After  some  trouble,  his  majesty 
procured  pen  and  ink,  and  addressing  a few  lines  to  me  at  the 
palace,  with  difficulty  prevailed  on  one  of  the  miller’s  sons  to 
carry  it,  so  fearful  were  they  of  falling  in  with  any  of  the  troop 
who  they  understood  had  plundered  their  guests. 

My  joy  at  the  sight  of  this  note  I cannot  describe.  I well 
remember  the  contents;  they  were  literally  these  : — 

“ ‘ By  the  miraculous  hand  of  Providence  I have  escaped 
from  the  hands  of  assassins.  I am  now  at  the  mill  of  Marie- 
mont.  Send  immediately  and  take  me  hence.  I am  wounded 
but  not  dangerously.* 


THADDEUS  (9/  WARSAW. 


39 


“ Regardless  of  my  own  condition,  I instantly  got  into  a 
carriage,  and  followed  by  a detachment  of  horse,  arrived  at  the 
/lill.  I met  Kosinski  at  the  door,  keeping  guard  with  his 
^word  drawn.  As  he  knew  my  person,  he  admitted  me  directly. 
The  king  had  fallen  into  a sleep,  and  lay  in  one  corner  of  the 
hovel  on  the  ground,  covered  with  the  miller’s  cloak.  To  see 
the  most  virtuous  monarch  in  the  world  thus  abused  by  a party 
of  ungrateful  subjects  pierced  me  to  the  heart.  Kneeling  down 
by  his  side,  I took  hold  of  his  hand,  and  in  a paroxysm  of  tears, 
which  I am  not  ashamed  to  confess,  I exclaimed,  ‘ I thank 
thee.  Almighty  God,  that  I again  see  our  true-hearted  sover- 
eign still  alive  ! ’ It  is  not  easy  to  say  how  these  words  struck 
the  simple  family.  They  dropped  on  their  knees  before  the 
kin^,  whom  my  voice  had  awakened,  and  besought  his  pardon 
for  iheir  recent  opposition  to  give  him  entrance.  The  good 
Stanislaits  soon  quieted  their  fears,  and  graciously  thanking 
them  for  their  kindness,  told  the  miller  to  come  to  the  palace 
the  next  day,  when  he  would  show  him  his  gratitude  in  a better 
way  than  by  promises. 

“The  officers  of  the  detachment  then  assisted  his  majesty 
and  myself  into  the  carriage,  and  accompanied  by  Kosinski,  we 
reached  Warsaw  about  six  in  the  morning.” 

“ Yes,”  interrupted  Butzou;  “I  remember  my  tumultuous 
joy  when  the  news  was  brought  to  me  in  my  bed  that  my  brave 
brother  had  not  died  in  vain  for  his  sovereign  ; it  almost  de- 
prived me  of  my  senses  ; and  besides,  his  majesty  visited  me, 
his  poor  soldier,  in  my  chamber.  Does  not  your  excellency  rec- 
ollect how  he  was  brought  into  my  room  on  a chair,  between 
two  men  ? and  how  he  thanked  me,  and  shook  hands  with  me, 
and  told  me  my  brother  should  never  be  forgotten  in  Poland  ? 
It  made  me  weep  like  a child.” 

“ And  he  never  can  ! ” cried  Thaddeus,  hardly  recovering 
from  the  deep  attention  with  which  he  had  listened  to  this 
recital.*  “ But  what  became  of  Kosinski } For  doubtless  the 
king  kept  his  word.” 

“ He  did  indeed,”  replied  Sobieski ; “ his  word  is  at  all  times 
sacred.  Yet  I believe  Kosinski  entertained  fears  that  he  would 
not  be  so  generous,  for  I perceived  him  change  color  very  often 

The  king  had  his  brave  defender  buried  with  military  honors,  and  caused  a noble 
monument  to  be  raised  over  him,  with  an  inscription,  of  which  the  following  is  a 
translation  : — 

“ Here  lieth  the  respected  remains  of  George  Butzou,  who,  on  the  3d  of  September, 
1771,  opposing  his  own  breast  to  shield  his  sovereign  from  the  weapons  of  national  parri- 
cides, was  pierced  with  a mortal  wound,  and  triumphantly  expired.  Stanislaus  the  king, 
lamenting  the  death  of  so  faithful  a subject,  erects  this  monument  as  a tribute  to  him  and 
an  example  of  heroic  duty  to  others.” 


40 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


while  we  were  in  the  coach.  Howev^er,  he  became  tranquil- 
lized when  his  majesty,  on  alighting  at  the  palace  in  the  midst 
of  the  joyous  cries  of  the  people,  leaned  upon  his  arm  and  pre- 
sented him  to  the  populace  as  his  preserver.  The  great  gate 
was  ordered  to  be  left  open ; and  never  whilst  I live  shall  I 
again  behold  such  a scene ! Every  loyal  soul  in  Warsaw,  from 
the  highest  to  the  lowest,  came  to  catch  a glimpse  of  their 
rescued  sovereign.  Seeing  the  doors  free,  they  entered  without 
ceremony,  and  thronged  forward  in  crowds  to  get  near  enough 
to  kiss  his  hand,  or  to  touch  his  clothes  ; then,  elated  with  joy, 
they  turned  to  Kosinski,  and  loaded  him  with  demonstrations 
of  gratitude,  calling  him  the  ‘ saviour  of  the  king.’  Kosinski 
bore  all  this  with  surprising  firmness  ; but  in  a day  or  two, 
when  the  facts  became  known,  he  feared  he  might  meet  with 
different  treatment  from  the  people,  and  therefore  petitioned 
his  majesty  for  leave  to  depart.  Stanislaus  consented  , and  he 
retired  to  Semigallia,  where  he  now  lives  on  a handsome  pen- 
sion from  the  king.” 

Generous  Stanislaus  ! ” exclaimed  the  general ; ‘‘  you  see, 
my  dear  young  count,  how  he  has  rewarded  me  for  doing  that 
which  was  merely  my  duty.  He  put  it  at  my  option  to  become 
what  I pleased  about  his  person,  or  to  hold  an  officer’s  rank  in 
his  body-guard.  Love  ennobles  servitude  ; and  attached  as  I 
have  ever  been  to  your  family,  under  whom  all  my  ancestors 
have  lived  and  fought,  I vowed  in  my  own  mind  never  to  quit 
it,  and  accordingly  begged  permission  of  my  sovereign  to  remain 
with  the  Count  Sobieski.  I did  remain  ; but  see,”  cried  he,  his 
voice  faltering,  “ what  my  benefactors  have  made  of  me.  I 
command  those  troops  amongst  whom  it  was  once  my  greatest 
pride  to  be  a private  soldier.” 

Thaddeus  pressed  the  hand  of  the  veteran  between  both 
his,  and  regarded  him  with  respect  and  affection,  whilst  the 
grateful  old  man  wiped  away  a gliding  tear  from  his  face.”  * 

How  happy  it  ought  to  make  you,  my  son,”  observed 
Sobieski,  ‘‘  that  you  are  called  out  to  support  such  a sovereign  ! 
He  is  not  merely  a brave  king,  whom  you  would  follow  to  bat- 
tle, because  he  will  lead  you  to  honor ; the  hearts  of  his  people 
acknowledge  him  in  a superior  light ; they  look  on  him  as  their 
patriarchal  head,  as  being  delegated  of  God  to  study  what  is 
their  greatest  good,  to  bestow  it,  and  when  it  is  attacked,  to  de- 

* Lukawski  and  Strawenski  were  afterwards  both  taken,  with  others  of  the  conspirators. 
At  the  king’s  entreaty,  those  of  inferior  rank  w'ere  pardoned  after  condemnation  ; but 
the  two  noblemen  who  had  deluded  them  were  beheaded.  Pulaski,  the  prime  ring-leader, 
escaped,  to  the  wretched  life  of  an  outlaw  and  an  exile,  and  finally  died  in  America,  in  1779. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


41 


fend  it.  To  preserve  the  life  of  such  a sovereign,  who  would 
not  sacrifice  his  own  ? ’’ 

*‘Yes,”  cried  Butzou  ; and  how  ought  we  to  abhor  those 
who  threaten  his  life  ! How  ought  we  to  estimate  those  crowned 
heads  who,  under  the  mask  of  amity,  have  from  the  year 
sixty-four,  when  he  ascended  the  throne,  until  now,  been  plot- 
ting his  overthrow  or  death  ! Either  calamity,  O Heaven,  avert ! 
for  his  death,  I fear,  will  be  a prelude  to  the  certain  ruin  of  our 
country.’’ 

“ Not  so,”  interrupted  Thaddeus,  with  eagerness  ; ‘‘  not 
whilst  a Polander  has  power  to  lift  an  arm  in  defence  of  a native 
king,  and  an  hereditary  succession,  can  she  be  quite  lost ! What 
was  ever  in  the  hearts  of  her  people  that  is  not  now  there 
For  one,  I can  never  forget  how  her  sons  have  more  than  once 
rolled  back  on  their  own  lands  legions  of  invaders,  from  those 
very  countries  now  daring  to  threaten  her  existence  ! ” 

Butzou  applauded  his  spirit,  and  was  warmly  seconded  by 
the  palatine,  who  (never  weary  of  infusing  into  every  feeling  of 
his  grandson  an  interest  for  his  country)  pursued  the  discourse, 
and  dwelt  minutely  on  the  happy  tendency  of  the  glorious  con- 
stitution of  1791,  in  defence  of  which  they  were  now  going  to 
hazard  their  lives.  As  Sobieski  pointed  out  its  several  excel- 
lences, and  expatiated  on  the  pure  spirit  of  freedom  which 
animated  its  revived  laws,  the  soul  of  Thaddeus  followed  his 
eloquence  with  all  the  fervor  of  youth,  forgetting  his  late  domestic 
regrets  in  the  warm  aspirations  of  patriotic  hopes;  and  at  noon 
on  the  third  day,  with  smiling  eyes  he  saw  his  grandfather  put 
himself  at  the  head  of  his  battalions  and  commence  a rapid 
march. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  OPENING  OF  THE  CAMPAIGN. 

'The  little  army  of  the  palatine  passed  by  the  battlements 
of  Chelm,  crossed  the  Bug  into  the  plains  of  Volhinia,  and  im- 
patiently counted  the  leagues  over  those  vast  tracts  until  it 
reached  the  borders  of  Kiovia. 

When  the  column  at  the  head  of  which  Thaddeus  was 
stationed  descended  the  heights  of  Lininy,  and  the  broad  camp 
of  his  countrymen  burst  upon  his  sight,  his  heart  heaved  with 


42 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


an  emotion  quite  new  to  him.  He  beheld  with  admiration  the 
regular  disposition  of  the  intrenchments,  the  long  intersected 
tented  streets,  and  the  warlike  appearance  of  the  soldiers,  whom 
he  could  descry,  even  at  that  distance,  by  the  beams  of  a bright 
evening  sun  which  shone  upon  their  arms. 

In  half  an  hour  his  troops  descended  into  the  plain,  where, 
meeting  those  of  the  palatine  and  General  Butzou,  the  three 
columns  again  united,  and  Thaddeus  joined  his  grandfather  in 
the  van. 

“ My  lord,’’  cried  he,  as  they  met,  ‘‘  can  I behold  such  a 
sight  and  despair  of  the  freedom  of  Poland  ! ” 

Sobieski  made  no  reply,  but  giving  him  one  of  those  ex- 
pressive looks  of  approbation  which  immediately  makes  its  way 
to  the  soul,  commanded  the  troops  to  advance  with  greater 
speed.  In  a few  minutes  they  reached  the  outworks  of  the 
camp,  and  entered  the  lines.  The  eager  eyes  of  Thaddeus 
wandered  from  object  to  object.  Thrilling  with  that  delight 
with  which  youth  beholds  wonders,  and  anticipates  more,  he 
stopped  with  the  rest  of  the  party  before  a tent,  which  General 
Butzou  informed  him  belonged  to  the  commander-in-chief. 
They  were  met  in  the  vestibule  by  an  hussar  officer  of  a most 
commanding  appearance.  Sobieski  and  he  having  accosted 
each  other  with  mutual  congratulations,  the  palatine  turned  to 
Thaddeus,  took  h-im  by  the  hand,  and  presenting  him  to  his 
friend,  said  with  a smile. 

Here,  my  dear  Kosciusko,  this  young  men  is  my  grand- 
son ; he  is  called  Thaddeus  Sobieski,  and  I trust  that  he  will 
not  disgrace  either  of  our  names  ! ” 

Kosciusko  embraced  the  young  count,  and  with  a hearty 
pressure  of  his  hand,  replied,  “ Thaddeus,  if  you  resemble  your 
grandfather,  you  can  never  forget  that  the  only  king  of  Poland 
who  equalled  our  patriotic  Stanislaus  was  a Sobieski  ; and  as 
becomes  his  descendant,  you  will  not  spare  your  best  blood  in 
the  service  of  your  country.”  * 

As  Kosciusko  finished  speaking,  an  aid-de-camp  came  for- 
ward to  lead  the  party  into  the  room  of  audience.  Prince 

* Kosciusko,  noble  of  birth,  and  eminently  brave  in  spirit,  had  learnt  the  practice  of 
arms  in  his  early  youth  in  America.  During  the  contest  between  the  British  colonies  there 
and  the  mother  country,  the  young  Pole,  with  a few  of  his  early  compeers  in  the  great 
military  college  at  Warsaw,  eager  to  measure  swords  in  an  actual  field,  had  passed  over 
seas  to  British  America,  and  offering  their  services  to  the  independents,  which  were  accepted, 
the  extraordinary  warlike  talents  of  Kosciusko  were  speedily  honored  by  his  being  made  an 
especial  aid-de-camp  to  General  Washington.  When  the  war  ended,  in  the  peace  of  mutual 
concessions  b^etween  the  national  parent  and  its  children  on  a distant  land,  the  Poles  re- 
turned to  their  native  country,  where  they  soon  met  circumstances  which  caused  them  to  re- 
draw their  swords  for  her.  But  to  what  issue,  was  yet  behind  the  floating  colors  of  a sol- 
dier’s hope. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


43 


Poniat0wski  welcomed  the  palatine  and  his  suite  with  the  most 
lively  expressions  of  pleasure.  He  gave  Thaddeus.  whose 
figure  and  manner  instantly  charmed  him,  many  flattering 
assurances  of  friendship,  and  promised  that  he  would  appoint 
him  to  the''  first  post  of  honor  which  should  offer.  After  de- 
taining the  palatine  and  his  grandson  half  an  hour,  his  highness 
withdrew,  and  they  rejoined  Kosciusko,  who  conducted  them  to 
the  quarter  where  the  Masovian  soldiers  had  already  pitched 
their  tents. 

The  officers  who  supped  with  Sobieski  left  him  at  an  early 
hour,  that  he  might  retire  to  rest ; but  Thaddeus  was  neither 
able  nor  inclined  to  benefit  by  their  consideration.  He  lay 
down  on  his  mattress,  shut  his  eyes,  and  tried  to  sleep  ; but  the 
attempt  was  without  success.  In  vain  he  turned  from  side  to 
side  ; in  vain  he  attempted  to  restrict  his  thoughts  to  one  thing 
at  once  : his  imagination  was  so  roused  by  anticipating  the 
scenes  in  which  he  was  to  become  an  actor,  that  he  found  it 
impossible  even  to  lie  still.  His  spirits  being  quite  awake,  he 
determined  to  rise,  and  to  walk  himself  drowsy. 

Seeing  his  grandfather  sound  asleep,  he  got  up  and  dressed 
himself  quietly ; then  stealing  gently  from  the  marquee,  he 
gave  the  word  in  a low  whisper  to  the  guard  at  the  door,  and 
proceeded  down  the  lines.  The  pitying  moon  seemed  to  stand 
in  the  heavens,  watching  the  awaking  of  those  heroes  who  the 
next  day  might  sleep  to  rise  no  more.  At  another  time,  and  in 
another  mood,  such  might  have  been  his  reflections  ; but  now 
he  pursued  his  walk  with  different  thoughts : no  meditations 
but  those  of  pleasure  possessed  his  breast.  He  looked  on  the 
moon  with  transport ; he  beheld  the  light  of  that  beautiful 
planet,  trailing  its  long  stream  of  glory  across  the  intrench- 
ments.  He  perceived  a solitary  candle  here  and  there  glim- 
mering through  the  curtained  entrance  of  the  tents,  and  thought 
that  their  inmates  were  probably  longing  with  the  same  anxiety 
as  himself  for  the  morning’s  dawn. 

Thaddeus  walked  slowly  on,  sometimes  pausing  at  the 
lonely  footfall  of  the  sentinel,  or  answering  with  a start  to  the 
sudden  challenge  for  the  parole  ; then  lingering  at  the  door  of 
some  of  these  canvas  dwellings,  he  offered  up  a prayer  for  the 
brave  inhabitant  who,  like  himself,  had  quitted  the  endearments 
of  home  to  expose  his  life  on  this  spot,  a bulwark  of  liberty. 
Thaddeus  knew  not  what  it  was  to  be  a soldier  by  profession  ; 
he  had  no  idea  of  making  war  a trade,  by  /.  hich  a man  may 
acquire  subsistence,  and  perhaps  wealth ; he  had  but  one 
motive  for  appearing  in  the  field,  and  one  for  leaving  it, — to 


44 


THADDRUS  OF  WARSAW, 


repel  invasion  and  to  establish  peace.  The  first  energy^of  his 
mind  was  a desire  to  maintain  the  rights  of  his  country ; it  had 
been  inculcated  into  him  when  an  infant ; it  had  been  the 
subject  of  his  morning  thoughts  and  nightly  dreams  ; it  was  now 
the  passion  which  beat  in  every  artery  of  his  heart.  Yet  he 
knew  no  honor  in  slaughter  : his  glory  lay  in  defence  : and 
when  that  was  accomplished,  his  sword  would  return  to  its 
scabbard,  unstained  by  the  blood  of  a vanquished  or  invaded 
people.  On  these  principles,  he  was  at  this  hour  full  of  en- 
thusiasm ; a glow  of  triumph  flitted  over  his  cheek,  for  he  had 
felt  the  indulgences  of  his  mother’s  palace,  had  left  her  ma- 
ternal arms,  to  take  upon  him  the  toils  of  war,  and  risk  an 
existence  just  blown  into  enjoyment.  A noble  satisfaction 
rose  in  his  mind  ; and  with  all  the  animation  which  an  inexperi- 
enced and  raised  fancy  imparts  to  that  age  when  boyhood 
breaks  into  man,  his  soul  grasped  at  every  show  of  creation 
with  the  confidence  of  bqlief.  Pressing  the  sabre  which  he 
held  in  his  hand  to  his  lips,  he  half  uttered,  Never  shall  this 
sword  leave  my  arm  but  at  the  command  of  mercy,  or  when 
death  deprives  my  nerves  of  their  strength.” 

Morning  was  tinging  the  hills  which  bound  the  eastern 
horizon  of  Winnica  before  Thaddeus  found  that  his  pelisse  was 
wet  with  dew,  and  that  he  ought  to  return  to  his  tent.  Hardly 
had  he  laid  his  head  upon  the  pillow,  and  “ lulled  his  senses  in 
forgetfulness,”  when  he  was  disturbed  by  the  drum  beating  to 
arms.  He  opened  his  eyes,  and  seeing  the  palatine  out  of 
bed,  he  sprung  from  his  own,  and  eagerly  inquired  the  cause 
of  his  alarm. 

‘‘  Only  follow  me  directly,”  answered  his  grandfather,  and 
quitted  the  tent. 

Whilst  Thaddeus  was  putting  on  his  clothes,  and  buckling 
on  his  arms  with  a trembling  eagerness  which  almost  defeated 
his  haste,  an  aid-de-camp  of  the  prince  entered.  He  brought 
information  that  an  advanced  guard  of  the  Russians  had  at- 
tacked a Polish  outpost,  under  the  command  of  Colonel  Lonza, 
and  that  his  highness  had  ordered  a detachment  from  the 
palatine’s  brigade  to  march  to  its  relief.  Before  Thaddeus 
could  reply,  Sobieski  sent  to  apprise  his  grandson  that  the 
prince  had  appointed  him  to  accompany  the  troops  which  were 
turning  out  to  resist  the  enemy. 

Thaddeus  heard  this  message  with  delight ; yet  fearful  in 
what  manner  the  event  might  answer  the  expectations  which 
this  wished  distinction  declared,  he  issued  from  his  tent  like  a 
youthful  Mars, — or  rather  like  the  Spartan  Isadas, — trembling 


f^HADDEbs  OF  WARSAW. 


4j 


ki  tile  dazzling  effects  of  his  temerity,  and  hiding  his  valor  and 
his  blushes  beneath  the  waving  plumes  of  his  helmet.  Kosci- 
usko, who  was  to  head  the  party,  observed  this  modesty  with 
pleasure,  a^d  shaking  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  said,  Go, 
Thaddeus  ; take  your  station  on  the  left  flank  ; I shall  require 
your  fresh  spirits  to  lead  the  charge  I intend  to  make,  and  to 
ensure  its  success.’’  Thaddeus  bowed  to  these  encouraging 
words,  and  took  his  place  according  to  order. 

Everything  being  ready,  the  detachment  quitted  the  camp, 
and  dashing  through  the  dews  of  a sweet  morning  (for  it  was 
yet  May),  in  a few  hours  arrived  in  view  of  the  Russian  bat- 
talions. Lonza,  who,  from  the  only  redoubt  now  in  his  posses- 
sion, caught  a glimpse  of  this  welcome  reinforcement,  rallied 
his  few  remaining  men,  and  by  the  time  that  Kosciusko  came 
up,  contrived  to  join  him  in  the  van.  The  fight  recommenced. 
Thaddeus,'  at  the  head  of  his  hussars,  in  full  gallop  bore  down 
upon  the  enemy’s  right  flank.  They  received  the  charge  with 
firmness  ; but  their  young  adversary,  perceiving  that  extraordi- 
nary means  were  necessary  to  make  the  desired  effect,  calling 
on  his  men  to  follow  him,  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  rushed 
into  the  thickest  of  the  battle.  His  soldiers  did  not  shrink  ; 
they  pressed  on,  mowing  down  the  foremost  ranks,  whilst  he, 
by  a lucky  stroke  of  his  sabre,  disabled  the  sword-arm  of  the 
Russian  standard-bearer  and  seized  the  colors.  His  own  troops 
seeing  the  standard  in  his  hand,  with  one  accord,  in  loud  and 
repeated  cries,  shouted  victory.  Part  of  the  reserve  of  the 
enemy,  alarmed  at  this  outcry,  gave  ground,  and  retreating  with 
precipitation,  was  soon  followed  by  some  of  the  rear  ranks  of 
the  centre,  to  which  Kosciusko  had  penetrated,  while  its  com- 
mander, after  a short  but  desperate  resistance,  was  slain.  The 
left  flank  next  gave  way,  and  though  holding  a brave  stand  at 
intervals,  at  length  fairly  turned  about  and  fled  across  the 
country. 

The  conquerors,  elated  with  so  sudden  a success,  put  their 
horses  on  full  speed  ; and  without  order  or  attention,  pursued 
the  fugitives  until  they  were  lost  amidst  the  trees  of  a distant 
wood.  Kosciusko  called  on  his  men  to  halt,  but  he  called  in 
vain;  they  continued  their  career,  animating  each  other,  and 
with  redoubled  shouts  drowned  the  voice  of  Thaddeus,  who 
was  galloping  forward  repeating  the  command.  At  the  entrance 
of  the  wood  they  were  stopped  by  a few  Russian  stragglers, 
who  had  formed  themselves  into  a body.  These  men  withstood 
the  first  onset  of  the  Poles  with  considerable  steadiness  ; but 
after  a short  skirmish,  they  fled,  or,  perhaps,  seemed  to  fly,  a 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W, 


46 

second  time,  and  took  refuge  in  the  bushes,  where,  still  regard- 
livss  of  orders,  their  enemies  followed.  Kosciusko,  foreseeing 
the  consequence  of  this  rashness,  ordered  Thaddeus  to  dis- 
mount a part  of  his  squadron,  and  march  after  these  headstrong- 
men  into  the  forest.  He  came  up  with  them  on  the  edge  of  a 
heathy  tract  of  land,  just  as  they  were  closing  in  with  a band 
of  the  enemy’s  arquebusiers,  who,  having  kept  up  a quick  run- 
ning fire  as  they  retreated,  had  drawn  their  pursuers  thus  far 
into  the  thickets.  Heedless  of  anything  but  giving  their  enemy 
a complete  defeat,  the  Polanders  went  on,  never  looking  to  the 
left  nor  to  the  right,  till  at  once  they  found  themselves  encom- 
passed by  two  thousand  Muscovite  horse,  several  battalions  of 
chasseurs,  and  in  front  of  fourteen  pieces  of  cannon,  which 
this  dreadful  ambuscade  opened  upon  them. 

Thaddeus  threw  himself  into  the  midst  of  his  countrymen, and 
taking  the  place  of  their  unfortunate  conductor,  who  had  been 
killed  in  the  first  sweep  of  the  artillery,  prepared  the  men  for 
a desperate  stand.  He  gave  his  orders  with  intrepid  coolness 
— though  under  a shower  of  musketry  and  a. cannonade  which 
carried  death  in  every  round — that  they  should  draw  off  towards 
the  flank  of  the  battery.  He  thought  not  of  himself ; and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  scattered  soldiers  were  consolidated  into  a 
close  body,  squared  with  pikemen,  who  stood  like  a grove  of 
pines  in  a day  of  tempest,  only  moving  their  heads  and  arms. 
Many  of  the  Russian  horse  impaled  themselves  on  the  sides  of 
this  little  phalanx,  which  they  vainly  attempted  to  shake,  al- 
though the  ordnance  was  rapidly  weakening  its  strength.  File 
after  file  the  men  were  swept  down,  their  bodies  making  a horrid 
rampart  for  their  resolute  brothers  in  arms,  who,  however,  ren- 
dered desperate,  at  last  threw  away  their  most  cumbrous  accou- 
trements, and  crying  to  their  leader,  ‘‘  Freedom  or  death ! ” 
followed  him  sword  in  hand,  and  bearing  like  a torrent  upon 
the  enemy’s  ranks,  cut  their  way*  through  the  forest.  The  Rus- 
sians, exasperated  that  their  prey  should  not  only  escape,  but 
escape  by  such  dauntless  valor,  hung  closely  on  their  rear, 
goading  them  with  musketry,  whilst  they  (like  a wounded  lion 
closely  pressed  by  the  hunters,  retreats,  yet  stands  proudly  at 
bay)  gradually  retired  towards  the  camp  with  a backward  step, 
their  faces  towards  the  foe. 

Meanwhile  the  palatine  Sobieski,  anxious  for  the  fate  of  the 
day,  mounted  the  dyke,  and  looked  eagerly  around  for  the 
arrival  of  some  messenger  from  the  little  army.  As  the  wind 
blew  strongly  from  the  south,  a cloud  of  dust  precluded  his 
view  ; but  from  the  approach  of  firing  and  the  clash  of  arms, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAiV, 


47 


he  was  led  to  fear  that  his  friends  had  been  defeated,  and  were 
retreating  towards  the  camp.  He  instantly  quitted  the  lines 
to  call  out  a reinforcement ; but  before  he  could  advance,  Kos- 
ciusko and  his  squadron  on  the  full  charge  appeared  in  flank  of 
the  enemy,  who  suddenly  halted,  and  wheeling  round,  left  the 
harassed  Polanders  to  enter  the  trenches  unmolested. 

Thaddeus,  covered  with  dust  and  blood,  flung  himself  into 
his  grandfather’s  arms.  In  the  heat  of  action  his  left  arm  had 
been  wounded  by  a Cossack.*  Aware  that  neglect  then  might 
disable  him  from  further  service,  at  the  moment  it  happened  he 
bound  it  up  in  his  sash,  and  had  thought  no  more  of  the  acci- 
dent until  the  palatine  remarked  blood  on  his  cloak. 

“ My  injury  is  slight,  my  dear  sir,”  said  he.  ‘‘  I wish  to 
Heaven  that  it  were  all  the  evil  which  has  befallen  us  to-day ! 
Look  at  the  remnant  of  our  brave  comrades.” 

Sobieski  turned  his  eyes  on  the  panting  soldiers,  and  on 
Kosciusko,  who  was  inspecting  them.  Some  of  them,  no  longer 
upheld  by  desperation,  were  sinking  with  wounds  and  fatigue  ; 
these  the  good  general  sent  off  in  litters  to  the  medical  depart- 
ment ; and  others,  who  had  sustained  unharmed  the  conflict  of 
the  day,  after  having  received  the  praise  and  admonition  of 
their  commander,  were  dismissed  to  their  quarters. 

Before  this  inspection  was  over,  the  palatine  had  to  assist 
Thaddeus  to  his  tent  ; in  spite  of  his  exertions  to  the  contrary, 
he  became  so  faint,  it  was  necessary  to  lead  him  off  the  ground. 

A short  time  restored  him.  With  his  arm  in  a sling,  he 
joined  his  brother  officers  on  the  fourth  day.  After  the  duty 
of  the  morning,  he  heard  with  concern  that,  during  his  confine- 
ment, the  enemy  had  augmented  their  force  to  so  tremendous  a 
strength,  it  was  impossible  for  the  comparatively  slender  force 
of  the  Poles  to  remain  longer  at  Winnica.  In  consequence  of 
this  report,  the  prince  had  convened  a council  late  the  preced- 
ing night,  in  which  it  was  determined  that  the  camp  should  im- 
mediately be  razed,  and  removed  towards  Zielime. 

This  information  displeased  Thaddeus,  who  in  his  fairy 
dreams  of  war  had  always  made  conquest  the  sure  end  of  his 
battles  ; and  many  were  the  sighs  he  drew  when,  at  an  hour  be- 
fore dawn  on  the  following  day,  he  witnessed  the  striking  of 

♦Cossacks.  There  are  two  descriptions  of  these  formidable  auxiliaries : those  of  clear 
Tartar  ricr,  the  other  mixed  with  Muscovites  and  their  tributaries.  The  first  and  the 
fiercest  are  called  Don  Cossacks,  because  of  their  inhabiting  the  immense  steppes  of  the  Don 
river,  on  the  frontiers  of  Asia.  They  are  governed  by  a hetman,  a native  chief,  who  per- 
sonally leads  them  to  battle.  The  second  are  the  Cossacks  of  the  Crimea,  a gallant  people 
of  that  finest  part  of  the  Russian  dominions,  and,  by  being  of  a mingled  origin,  under  Euro- 
pean rule,  are  more  civilized  and  better  disciplined  than  their  brethren  near  the  Caucasus. 
They  are  generally  commanded  by  Russian  officers. 


THADDJ5US  OP  M^ARSA  m 


the  tents,  which  he  thought  too  like  a prelude  to  a shameful 
flight  from  the  enetny*  While  he  was  standing  by  the  busy 
people,  and  musing  on  the  nice  line  which  divides  prudence 
from  pusillanimity,  his  grandfather  came  up,  and  bade  him 
mount  his  horse,  telling  him  that,  owing  to  the  unhealed  state 
of  his  wound,  he  was  removed  from  the  vanguard,  and  ordered 
to  march  in  the  centre,  along  with  the  prince.  Thaddeus  remon- 
strated against  this  arrangement,  and  almost  reproached  the 
palatine  for  forfeiting  his  promise,  that  he  should  always  be  sta- 
tioned near  his  person.  The  veteran  would  not  be  moved, 
either  by  argument  or  entreaty ; and  Thaddeus,  finding  that  he 
neither  could  nor  ought  to  oppose  him,  obeyed,  and  followed 
an  aid-de-camp  to  his  highness. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  PASS  OF  VOLUNNA. 

After  a march  of  three  hours,  the  army  came  in  sight  of 
Volunna,  where  the  advanced  column  suddenly  halted.  Thad- 
deus, who  was  about  a half  mile  to  its  rear,  with  a throbbing 
heart  heard  that  a momentous  pass  must  be  disputed  before 
they  could  proceed.  He  curbed  his  horse,  then  gave  it  the 
spur,  so  eagerly  did  he  wish  to  penetrate  the  cloud  of  smoke 
which  rose  in  volumes  from  the  discharge  of  musketry,  on 
whose  wing,  at  every  round,  he  dreaded  might  be  carried  the 
fate  of  his  grandfather.  At  last  the  firing  ceased,  and  the  troops 
were  commanded  to  go  forward.  On  approaching  near  the 
contested  defile,  Thaddeus  shuddered,  for  at  every  step  the 
heels  of  his  charger  struck  upon  the  wounded  or  the  dead. 
There  lay  his  enemies,  here  lay  his  friends  ! His  respiration 
was  nearly  suspended,  and  his  eyes  clung  to  the  ground,  ex- 
pecting at  each  moment  to  fasten  on  the  breathless  body  of 
his  grandfather. 

Again  the  tumult  of  battle  presented  itself.  About  an  hun- 
dred soldiers,  in  one  firm  rank,  stood  at  the  opening  of  the 
pass,  firing  on  the  now  vacillating  steadiness  of  the  enemy. 
Thaddeus  checked  his  horse.  Five  hundred  had  been  detached 
to  this  post ; how  few  remained  ! Could  he  hope  that  Sobieski 
had  escaped  so  desperate  a rencontre  ? Fearing  the  worst,  and 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


49 


dreading,  to  have  those  fears  confirmed,  his  heart  sickened  when 
he  received  orders  from  Poniatowski  to  examine  the  extent  of 
the  loss.  He  rode  to  the  mouth  of  the  defile.  He  could  no- 
where see  the  palatine.  A few  of  his  hussars,  a little  in  advance, 
were  engaged  over  a heap  of  the  killed,  defending  it  from  a 
troop  of  Cossacks,  who  appeared  fighting  for  the  barbarous 
privilege  of  trampling  on  the  bodies.  At  this  sight  Thaddeus, 
impelled  by  despair,  called  out,  Courage,  soldiers  ! The 
prince  with  artillery  ! ” The  enemy,  looking  forward,  saw  the 
information  was  true,  and  with  a shout  of  derision,  took  to 
flight.  Poniatowski,  almost  at  the  word,  was  by  the  side  of  his 
young  friend,  who,  unconscious  of  any  idea  but  that  of  filial 
solicitude,  had  dismounted. 

‘‘  Where  is  the  palatine  ? was  his  immediate  inquiry  to  a 
chasseur  who  was  stooping  towards  the  slain.  The  man  made 
no  answer,  but  lifted  from  the  heap  the  bodies  of  two  soldiers  ; 
beaeath,  Thaddeus  saw  the  pale  and  deathly  features  of  his 
grandfather.  He  staggered  a few  paces  back,  and  the  prince, 
thinking  he  was  falling,  hastened  to  support  him  ; but  he  recov- 
er(!d  himself,  and  flew  forward  to  assist  Kosciusko,  who  had 
raised  the  head  of  the  palatine  upon  his  knee. 

“ Is  he  alive  ? inquired  Thaddeus. 

^‘He  breathes.’’ 

Hope  was  now  warm  in  his  grandson’s  breast.  The  soldiers 
soon  released  Sobieski  from  the  surrounding  dead;  but  his 
swoon  continuing,  the  prince  desired  that  he  might  be  laid  on 
a bank,  until  a litter  could  be  brought  from  the  rear  to  convey 
him  to  a place  of  security.  Meantime,  Thaddeus  and  General 
Butzou  bound  up  his  wounds  and  poured  some  water  into  his 
mouth.  The  effusion  of  blood  being  stopped,  the  brave  vet- 
eran opened  his  eyes,  and  in  a few  moments  more,  whilst  he 
leaned  on  the  bosom  of  his  grandson,  was  so  far  restored  as  to 
receive  with  his  usual  modest  dignity  the  thanks  of  his  high- 
ness for  the  intrepidity  with  which  he  had  preserved  a passage 
which  ensured  the  safety  of  the  whole  army. 

Two  surgeons,  who  arrived  with  the  litter,  relieved  the 
anxiety  of  the  bystanders  by  an  assurance  that  the  wounds, 
which  they  re-examined,  were  not  dangerous.  Having  laid 
their  patient  on  the  vehicle,  they  were  preparing  to  retire  with 
it  into  the  rear,  when  Thaddeus  petitioned  the  prince  to  grant 
him  permission  to  take  the  command  of  the  guard  which  was 
appointed  to  attend  his  grandfather.  His  highness  consented; 
but  Sobieski  positively  refused. 

‘‘  No,  Thaddeus,”  said  he  ; ‘‘  you  forget  the  effect  which 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


SO 

this  solicitude  about  so  trifling  a matter  might  have  on  the 
men.  Remember  that  he  who  goes  into  battle  only  puts  his 
own  life  to  the  hazard,  but  he  that  abandons  the  field,  sports 
with  the  lives  of  his  soldiers.  Do  not  give  them  leave  to  sup- 
pose that  even  your  dearest  interest  could  tempt  you  from  the 
front  of  danger  when  it  is  your  duty  to  remain  there.’’  Thad- 
deus  obeyed  his  grandfather  in  respectful  silence ; at  seven 
o’clock  the  army  resumed  its  march. 

Near  Zielime  the  prince  was  saluted  by  a reinforcement. 
It  appeared  very  seasonably,  for  scouts  had  brought  information 
that  directly  across  the  plain  a formidable  division  Of  the 
Russian  army,  under  General  Brinicki,  was  drawn  up  in  order 
of  battle,  to  dispute  his  progress. 

Thaddeus,  for  the  first  time,  shuddered  at  the  sight  of  the 
enemy.  Should  his  friends  be  defeated,  what  might  be  the 
fate  of  his  grandfather,  now  rendered  helpless  by  many  wounds  ! 
Occupied  by  these  fears,  with  anxiety  in  his  heart,  he  kept  his 
place  at  the  head  of  the  light  horse,  close  to  the  hill. 

Prince  Poniatowski  ordered  the  lines  to  extend  themselves, 
that  the  right  should  reach  to  the  river,  and  the  left  be  covered 
by  the  rising  ground,  on  which  were  mounted  seven  pieces  of 
ordnance.  Immediately  after  these  dispositions,  the  battle 
commenced  with  mutual  determination,  and  continued  with 
unabated  fury  from  eight  in  the  morning  until  sunset.  Several 
times  the  Poles  were  driven  from  their  ground ; but  as  often 
recovering  themselves,  and  animated  by  their  commanders, 
they  prosecuted  the  fight  with  advantage.  General  Brinicki, 
perceiving  that  the  fortune  of  the  day  was  going  against  him, 
ordered  up  the  body  of  reserve,  which  consisted  of  four  thou- 
sand men  and  several  cannon.  He  erected  temporary  batteries 
in  a few  minutes,  and  with  these  new  forces  opened  a rapid 
and  destructive  fire  on  the  Polanders.  Kosciusko,  alarmed  at 
perceiving  a retrograde  motion  in  his  troops,  gave  orders  for  a 
close  attack  on  the  enemy  in  front,  whilst  Thaddeus,  at  the 
head  of  his  hussars,  should  wheel  round  the  hill  of  artillery, 
and  with  loud  cries  charge  the  opposite  flank.  This  stratagem 
succeeded.  The  arquebusiers,  who  were  posted  on  that  spot, 
seeing  the  impetuosity  of  the  Poles,  and  the  quarter  whence 
they  came,  supposed  them  to  be  a fresh  squadron,  gave  ground, 
and  opening  in  all  directions,  threw  their  own  people  into  a 
confusion  that  completed  the  defeat.  Kosciusko  and  the 
prince  were  equally  successful,  and  a general  panic  amongst 
their  adversaries  was  the  consequence.  The  whole  of  the 
Russian  army  now  took  to  flight,  except^a  few  regiments  of 


THADIyEUS  OF  WARS  A IV. 


SI 

carabineers,  which  were  entangled  between  the  river  and  the 
Poles.  These  were  immediately  surrounded  by  a battalion  of 
Masovian  infantry,  who,  enraged  at  the  loss  their  body  had 
sustained  the  preceding  day,  answered  a cry  for  quarter  with 
reproach  and  derision.  At  this  instant  the  Sobieski  squadron 
came  up,  and  Thaddeus,  who  saw  the  perilous  situation  of 
these  regiments,  ordered  the  slaughter  to  cease,  and  the  men 
to  be  taken  prisoners.  The  Masovians  exhibited  strong  signs 
of  dissatisfaction. at  such  commands;  but  the  young  count 
charging  through  them,  ranged  his  troops  before  the  Russians, 
and  declared  that  the  first  man  who  should  dare  to  lift  a sword 
against  his  orders  should  be  shot.  The  Poles  dropped  their 
arms.  The  poor  carabineers  fell  on  their  knees  to  thank  his 
mercy,  whilst  their  officers,  in  a sullen  silence,  which  seemed 
ashamed  of  gratitude,  surrendered  their  swords  into  the  hands 
of  their  deliverers. 

During  this  scene,  only  one  very  young  Russian  appeared 
wholly  refractory.  He  held  his  sword  in  a menacing  posture 
when  Thaddeus  drew  near,  and  before  he  had  time  to  speak, 
the  young  man  made  a cut  at  his  head,  which  a hussar  parried 
by  striking  the  assailant  to  the  earth,  and  would  have  killed 
him  on  the  spot,  had  not  Thaddeus  caught  the  blow  on  his 
own  sword  ; then  instantly  dismounting,  he  raised  the  officer 
from  the  ground,  and  apologized  for  the  too  hasty  zeal  of  his 
soldier.  The  youth  blushed,  and,  bowing,  presented  his  sword, 
which  was  received  and  as  directly  returned. 

‘‘  Brave  sir,^’  said  Thaddeus,  “ 1 consider  myself  ennobled 
in  restoring  this  weapon  to  him  who  has  so  courageously  de- 
fended  it.’’ 

The  Russian  made  no  reply  but  by  a second  bow,  and  put 
his  hand  on  his  breast,  which  seemed  wet  with  blood.  Cere- 
mony was  now  at  an  end.  Thaddeus  never  looked  upon  the 
unfortunate  as  strangers,  much  less  as  enemies.  Accosting 
the  wounded  officer  with  a friendly  voice,  he  assured  him  of 
his  services,  and  bade  him  lean  on  him.  Overcome,  the  young 
man,  incapable  of  speaking,  accepted  his  assistance  ; but  be- 
fore a conveyance  could  arrive,  for  which  two  men  were  dis- 
patched, he  fainted  in  his  arms.  Thaddeus  being  obliged  to 
join  the  prince  with  his  prisoners,  unwillingly  left  the  young 
Russian  in  this  situation  ; but  before  he  did  so  he  directed  one 
of  his  lieutenants  to  take  care  that  the  surgeons  should  pay 
attention  to  the  officer,  and  have  his  litter  carried  next  to  the 
palatine’s  during  the  remainder  of  the  march. 

When  the  army  halted  at  nine  o’clock,  p.  m.,  preparations 


S2 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


were  made  to  fix  the  camp ; and  in  case  of  a surprise  from 
any  part  of  the  dispersed  enemy  which  might  have  rallied, 
orders  were  delivered  for  throwing  up  a dyke.  Thaddeus, 
having  been  assured  that  his  grandfather  and  the  wounded 
Russian  were  comfortably  stationed  near  each  other,  did  not 
hesitate  to  accept  the  command  of  the  intrenching  party.  To 
that  end  he  wrapped  himself  loosely  in  his  pelisse,  and  pre- 
pared for  a long  watch.  The  night  was  beautiful.  It  being 
the  month  of  June,  a softening  warmth  still  floated  through 
the  air,  as  if  the  moon,  which  shone  over  his  head,  emitted 
heat  as  well  as  splendor.  His  mind  was  in  unison  with  the 
season.  He  rode  slowly  round  from  bank  to  bank,  sometimes 
speaking  to  the  workers  in  the  fosse,  sometimes  lingering  for 
a few  minutes.  Looking  on  the  ground,  he  thought  on  the 
element  of  which  he  was  composed,  to  which  he  might  so  soon 
return ; then  gazing  upward,  he  observed  the  silent  march  of 
the  stars  and  the  moving  scene  of  the  heavens.  On  whatever 
object  he  cast  his  eyes,  his  soul,  which  the  recent  events  had 
dissolved  into  a temper  not  the  less  delightful  for  being  tinged 
with  melancholy,  meditated  with  intense  compassion,  and 
dwelt  with  wonder  on  the  mind  of  man,  which,  whilst  it  adores 
the  Creator  of  the  universe,  and  measures  the  immensity  of 
space  with  an  expansion  of  intellect  almost  divine,  can  devote 
itself  to  the  narrow  limits  of  sublunary  possessions,  and  ex- 
change the  boundless  paradise  above  for  the  low  enjoyments 
of  human  pride.  He  looked  with  pity  over  that  wide  tract  of 
land  which  now  lay  betwixt  him  and  the  remains  of  those  four 
thousand  invaders  who  had  just  fallen  victims  to  the  insatiate 
desires  of  ambition.  He  well  knew  the  difference  between  a 
defender  of  his  own  country  and  the  invader  of  another’s. 
His  heart  beat,  his  soul  expanded,  at  the  prospect  of  securing 
liberty  and  life  to  a virtuous  people.  He  felt  all  the  happiness 
of  such  an  achievement,  while  he  could  only  imagine  how  that 
spirit  must  shrink  from  reflection  which  animates  the  self- 
condemned  slave  to  fight,  not  merely  to  fasten  chains  on  others, 
but  to  rivet  his  own  the  closer.  The  best  affections  of  man 
having  put  the  sword  into  the  hand  of  Thaddeus,  his  principle 
as  a Christian  did  not  remonstrate  against  his  passion  for 
arms. 

When  he  was  told  the  fortifications  were  finished,  he  retired 
with  a tranquil  step  towards  the  Masovian  quarters.  He  found 
the  palatine  awake,  and  eager  to  welcome  him  with  the  joyful 
information  that  his  wounds  were  so  slight  as  to  promise  a 
speedy  amendment.  Thaddeus  asked  for  his  prisoner.  The 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  IV, 


S3 


palatine  answered  that  he  was  in  the  next  tent,  where  a sur- 
geon closely  attended  him,  who  had  already  given  a very  fav- 
orable opinion  of  the  wound,  which  was  in  the  muscles  of  the 
breast. 

Have  you  seen  him,  my  dear  sir  } inquired  Thaddeus. 

‘‘  Yes/^  replied  the  palatine  ; I was  supported  into  his  mar- 
que'e  before  I retired  to  my  own.  I told  him  who  I was,  and 
repeated  your  offers  of  service.  He  received  my  proffer  with 
expressions  of  gratitude,  and  at  the  same  time  declared  he  had 
nothing  to  blame  but  his  own  folly  for  bringing  him  to  the  state 
in  which  he  now  lies.” 

How,  my  lord  ? ” rejoined  Thaddeus.  Does  he  repent 
of  being  a soldier  ? or  is  he  ashamed  of  the  cause  for  which  he 
fought  ? ” 

Both,  Thaddeus ; he  is  not  a Muscovite,  but  a young 
Englishman.” 

‘‘  An  Englishman  ! and  raise  his  arm  against  a country 
struggling  for  loyalty  and  liberty  ! ” 

It  is  very  true,”  returned  the  palatine  ; “but  as  he  con- 
fesses it  was  his  folly  and  the  persuasions  of  others  which  im- 
pelled him,  he  may  be  pardoned.  He  is  a mere  youth  ; I think 
hardly  your  age.  I understand  that  he  is  of  rank  ; and  having 
undertaken  a tour  in  whatever  part  of  Europe  is  now  open  to 
travellers,  under  the  direction  of  an  experienced  tutor,  they 
took  Russia  in  th^ir  route.  At  St.  Petersburg  he  became  inti- 
mate with  many  of  the  nobility,  particularly  with  Count  Brinicki, 
at  whose  house  he  resided  ; and  when  the  count  was  named  to 
the  command  of  the  army  in  Poland,  Mr.  Somerset  (for  that 
is  your  prisoner’s  name),  instigated  by  his  own  volatility  and 
the  arguments  of  his  host,  volunteered  with  him,  and  so 
followed  his  friend  to  oppose  that  freedom  here  which  he  would 
have  asserted  in  his  own  nation.” 

Thaddeus  thanked  his  grandfather  for  this  information  ; 
and  pleased  that  the  young  man,  who  had  so  much  interested 
him,  was  a brave  Briton,  not  in  heart  an  enemy,  he  gayly  and 
instantly  repaired  to  his  tent. 

A generous  spirit  is  as  eloquent  in  acknowledging  benefits  as 
it  is  bounteous  in  bestowing  them ; and  Mr.  Somerset  received 
his  preserver  with  the  warmest  demonstrations  of  gratitude. 
Thaddeus  begged  him  not  to  consider  himself  as  particularly 
obliged  by  a conduct  which  every  soldier  of  honor  has  a right 
to  expect  from  another.  The  Englishman  bowed  his  head,  and 
Thaddeus  took  a seat  by  his  bedside. 

Whilst  he  gathered  from  his  own  lips  a corroboration  of  the 


54 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


narrative  of  the  palatine,  he  could  not  forbear  inquiring  how  a 
person  of  his  apparent  candor,  and  who  was  also  the  native  of 
a soil  where  national  liberty  had  so  long  been  the  palladium  of 
its  happiness,  could  volunteer  in  a cause  the  object  of  which 
was  to  make  a brave  people  slaves  ? 

Somerset  listened  to  these  questions  with  blushes  ; and  they 
did  not  leave  his  face  when  he  confessed  that  all  he  could  say 
in  extenuation  of  what  he  had  done  was  to  plead  his  youth,  and 
having  thought  little  on  the  subject. 

I was  wrought  upon,’^  continued  he,  by  a variety  of  cir- 
cumstances . first,  the  predilections  of  Mr.  Loftus,  my  governor, 
are  strongly  in  favor  of  the  court  of  St.  Petersburg  ; secondly, 
my  father  dislikes  the  army,  and  I am  enthusiastically  fond  of 
it — this  was  the  only  opportunity,  perhaps,  in  which  I might  ever 
satisfy  my  passion  ; and  lastly,  I believe  that  I was  dazzled 
by  the  picture  which  the  young  men  about  me  drew  of  the 
campaign.  I longed  to  be  a soldier  ; they  persuaded  me  ; and 
T followed  them  to  the  field  as  I would  have  done  to  a ball- 
room, heedless  of  the  consequences.’’ 

‘‘Yet,”  replied  Thaddeus,  smiling,  “from  the  intrepidity 
with  which  you  maintained  your  ground,  when  your  arms  were 
demanded,  any  one  might  have  thought  that  your  whole  soul, 
as  well  as  your  body,  was  engaged  in  the  cause.” 

“ To  be  sure,”  returned  Somerset,  “ I was  a blockhead  to 
be  there ; but  when  there,  I should  have  despised  myself  for- 
ever had  I given  up  my  honor  to  the  ruffians  who  would  have 
wrested  my  sword  from  me  ! But  when  you  came,  noble  Sobi- 
eski,  it  was  the  fate  of  war,  and  I confided  myself  to  a brave 
man.” 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  BANKS  OF  THE  VISTULA. 

Each  succeeding  morning  not  only  brought  fresh  symptoms 
of  recovery  to  the  two  invalids,  but  condensed  the  mutual  ad- 
miration of  the  young  men  into  a solid  and  ardent  esteem. 

It  is  not  the  disposition  of  youthful  minds  to  weigh  for 
months  and  years  the  sterling  value  of  those  qualities  which 
attract  them.  As  soon  as  they  see  virtue,  they  respect  it ; as 
soon  as  they  meet  kindness,  they  believe  it ; and  as  soon  as  a 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


55 


union  of  both  presents  itself,  they  love  it.  Not  having  passed 
through  the  disappointments  of  a delusive  world,  they  grasp 
for  reality  every  pageant  which  appears.  They  have  not  yet  ad- 
mitted that  cruel  doctrine  which,  when  it  takes  effect,  creates 
and  extends  the  misery  it  affects  to  cure.  Whilst  we  give  up 
our  souls  to  suspicion,  we  gradually  learn  to  deceive ; whilst 
we  repress  the  fervors  of  our  own  hearts,  we  freeze  those  which 
approach  us ; whilst  we  cautiously  avoid  occasions  of  receiving 
pain,  at  every  remove  we  acquire  an  unconscious  influence  to 
inflict  ft  on  those  who  follow  us.  They,  again,  meet  from  our 
conduct  and  lips  the  lesson  that  destroys  the  expanding  sensi- 
bilities of  their  nature  ; and  thus  the  tormenting  chain  of  de- 
ceived and  deceiving  characters  may  be  lengthened  to  infinitude. 

About  the  latter  end  of  the  month,  Sobieski  received  a 
summons  to  court,  where  a diet  was  to  be  held  on  the  effect  of 
the  victory  at  Zielime,  to  consider  of  future  proceedings.  In 
the  same  packet  his  majesty  enclosed  a collar  and  investiture 
of  the  order  of  St.  Stanislaus,  as  an  acknowledgment  of  ser- 
vice to  the  young  Thaddeus ; and  he  accompanied  it  with  a 
note  from  himself,  expressing  his  commands  that  the  young 
knight  should  return  with  the  palatine  and  other  generals,  to 
receive  thanks  from  the  throne. 

Thaddeus,  half  wild  with  delight  at  the  thoughts  of  so  soon 
meeting  his  mother,  ran  to  the  tent  of  his  British  friend  to 
communicate  the  tidings.  Somerset  participated  in  his  pleasure, 
and  with  reciprocal  warmth  accepted  the  invitation  to  accom- 
pany him  to  Villanow. 

‘‘  I would  follow  you,  my  friend,”  said  he,  pressing  the  hand 
of  Thaddeus,  “all  over  the  world.” 

“ Then  I will  take  you  to  the  most  charming  spot  in  it  ? ” 
cried  he.  “ Villanow  is  an  Eden  ; and  my  mother,  the  dear 
angel,  would  make  a desert  so  to  me.” 

“You  speak  so  rapturously  of  your  enchanted  castle,  Thad- 
deus,” returned  his  friend,  “ I believe  I shall  consider  my  knight- 
errantry,  in  being  fool  enough  to  trust  myself  amidst  a fray  in 
which  I had  no  business,  as  one  of  the  wisest  acts  of  my  life  ! ” 

“ I consider  it,”  replied  Thaddeus,  “ as  one  of  the  most 
auspicious  events  in  mine.” 

Before  the  palatine  quitted  the  camp,  Somerset  thought  it 
proper  to  acquaint  Mr.  Loftus,  who  was  yet  at  St.  Petersburg, 
of  the  particulars  of  his  late  danger,  and  that  he  was  going  to 
Warsaw  with  his  new  friends,  where  he  should  remain  for  several 
weeks.  He  added,  that  as  the  court  of  Poland,  through  the 
intercession  of  the  palatine,  had  generously  given  him  his 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


S6 

liberty,  he  should  be  able  to  see  everything  in  that  country 
worthy  of  investigation,  and  that  he  would  write  to  him  again, 
enclosing  letters  for  England,  soon  after  his  arrival  at  the  Polish 
capital. 

The  weather  continuing  fine,  in  a few  days  the  party  left 
Zielime ; and  the  palatine  and  Somerset,  being  so  far  restored 
from  their  wounds  that  they  could  walk,  the  one  with  a crutch 
and  the  other  by  the  support  of  his  friend’s  arm,  they  w(mt 
through  the  journey  with  animation  and  pleasure.  The  benign 
wisdom  of  Sobieski,  the  intelligent  enthusiasm  of  Thaddeus, 
and  the  playful  vivacity  of  Somerset,  mingling  their  different 
natures,  produced  such  a beautiful  union,  that  the  minutes  flew 
fast  as  their  wishes.  A week  more  carried  them  into  the  pala- 
tinate of  Masovia,  and  soon  afterwards  within  the  walls  of 
Villanow. 

Everything  that  presented  itself  to  Mr.  Somerset  was  new 
and  fascinating.  He  saw  in  the  domestic  felicity  of  his  friend 
scenes  which  reminded  him  of  the  social  harmony  of  his  own 
home.  He  beheld  in  the  palace  and  retinue  of  Sobieski  all  the 
magnificence  which  bespoke  the  descendant  of  a great  kiing, 
and  a power  which  wanted  nothing  of  royal  grandeur  but  the 
crown,  which  he  had  the  magnanimity  to  think  and  to  declare 
was  then  placed  upon  a more  worthy  brow.  Whilst  Somerset 
venerated  this  true  patriot,  the  high  tone  his  mind  acquired  was 
not  lowered  by  associating  with  characters  nearer  the  common 
standard.  The  friends  of  Sobieski  were  men  of  tried  probity 
— men  who  at  all  times  preferred  their  country’s  welfare  before 
their  own  peculiar  interest.  Mr.  Somerset  day  after  day  listened 
with  deep  attention  to  these  virtuous  and  energetic  noblemen. 
He  saw  them  full  of  fire  and  pejsonal  courage  when  the  affairs 
of  Poland  were  discussed  ; and  he  beheld  with  admiration  their 
perfect  forgetfulness  of  themselves  in  their  passion  for  the 
general  good.  In  these  moments  his  heart  bowed  down  before 
them,  and  all  the  pride  of  a Briton  distended  his  breast  when 
he  thought  that  such  men  as  these  his  ancestors  were.  He  re- 
membered how  often  their  chivalric  virtues  used  to  occupy  his 
reflections  in  the  picture-gallery  at  Somerset  Castle,  and  his 
doubts,  when  he  compared  what  is  with  what  was,  that  history 
had  glossed  over  the  actions  of  past  centuries,  or  that  a differ- 
ent order  of  men  lived  then  from  those  which  now  inhabit  the 
world.  Thus,  studying  the  sublime  characters  of  Sobieski  and 
his  friends,  and  enjoying  the  endearing  kindness  of  Thaddeus 
and  his  mother,  did  a fortnight  pass  away  without  his  even 
recollecting  the  promise  of  writing  to  his  governor.  At  the 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


S7 


end  of  that  period,  he  stole  an  hour  from  the  countess’s  society, 
and  enclosed  in  a short  letter  to  Mr.  Loftus  the  following  epistle 
to  his  mother  : — 

To  Lady  Somerset,  Somerset  Castle,  Leicestershire. 

Many  weeks  ago,  my  dearest  mother,  I wrote  a letter  of 
seven  sheets  from  the  banks  of  the  Neva,  which,  long  ere  this 
time,  you  and  my  dear  father  must  have  received.  I attempted 
to  give  you  some  idea  of  the  manners  of  Russia,  and  my  vanity 
whispers  that  I succeeded  tolerably  well.  The  court  of  the 
famous  Catharine  and  the  attentions  of  the  hospitable  Court 
Brinicki  were  then  the  subjects  of  my  pen. 

But  how  shall  I account  for  my  being  here  ? How  shall  I 
allay  your  surprise  and  displeasure  on  seeing  that  this  letter  is 
dated  from  Warsaw  ? I know  that  I have  acted  against  the 
wish  of  my  father  in  visiting  one  of  the  countries  he  proscribes. 
I know  that  I have  disobeyed  your  commands  in  ever  having 
at  any  period  of  my  life  taken  up  arms  without  an  indispensable 
necessity  ; and  I have  nothing  to  allege  in  my  defence.  I fell 
in  the  way  of  temptation,  and  I yielded  to  it.  I really  cannot 
enumerate  all  the  things  which  induced  me  to  volunteer  with 
my  Russian  friends  ; suffice  it  to  say  that  I did  so,  and  that  we 
were  defeated  by  the  Poles  at  ZiLlime  : and  as  Heaven  has 
rather  rewarded  your  prayers  than  punished  my  imprudence,  I 
trust  you  will  do  the  same,  and  pardon  an  indiscretion  I vow 
never  to  repeat. 

‘‘  Notwithstanding  all  this,  I must  have  lost  my  life  throug^r 
my  folly,  had  I not  been  preserved,  even  in  the  moment  when 
death  was  pending  over  me,  by  a young  officer  with  whose 
family  I now  am.  The  very  sound  of  their  t'  le  will  create 
your  respect ; for  we  of  the  patrician  order  J.  e a strange 
tenacity  in  our  belief  that  virtue  is  hereditary,  and  in  this  in- 
stance our  creed  is  duly  honored.  Their  patronymic  is  Sobi- 
eski  ; the  family  wffiich  bears  it  is  the  only  remaining  posterity 
of  the  great  monarch  of  that  name  ; and  the  count,  who  is  at  its 
head,  is  Palatine  of  Masovia,  which,  next  to  the  throne,  is  the 
first  dignity  in  the  state.  He  is  one  of  the  warmest  champions 
of  his  country’s  rights  ; and  though  born  to  command,  has  so 
far  transgressed  the  golden  adage  of  despots,  ^ Ignorance  and 
subjection,’  that  throughout  his  territories  every  man  is  taught 
to  worship  his  God  with  his  heart  as  well  as  with  his  knees. 
The  understandings  of  his  peasants  are  opened  to  all  useful 
knowledge.  He  does  not  put  books  of  science  and  speculation 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAIV. 


S8 

into  their  hands,  to  consume  their  time  in  vain  pursuits : he 
gives  them  the  Bible,  and  implements  of  industry,  to  afford 
them  the  means  of  knowing  and  of  practising  their  duty.  All 
Masovia  around  his  palace  blooms  like  a garden.  The  cheerful 
faces  of  the  farmers,  and  the  blessings  which  I hear  them  im- 
plore on  the  family  when  I am  walking  in  the  field  with  the 
young  count  (for  in  this  country  the  sons  bear  the  same  title 
with  their  fathers  *),  have  even  drawn  a few  delighted  drops 
from  the  eyes  of  your  thoughtless  son.  1 know  that  you  think 
I have  nothing  sentimental  about  me,  else  you  would  not  so 
often  have  poured  into  my  riot  inattentive  ears,  ‘ that  to  esti- 
mate the  pleasures  of  earth  and  heaven,  we  must  cultivate  :\he 
sensibilities  of  the  heart.  Shut  our  eyes  against  them,  and  we 
are  merely  nicely-constructed  speculums,  which  reflect  Khe 
beauties  of  nature,  but  enjoy  none.'  You  see,  mamma,  that  I 
both  remember  and  adopt  your  lessons. 

Thaddeus  Sobieski  is  the  grandson  of  the  palatine,  and 
the  sole  heir  of  his  illustrious  race.  It  is  to  him  that  I owe 
the  preservation  of  my  life  at  Zielime,  and  much  of  my  happi- 
ness since  ; for  he  is  not  only  the  bravest  but  the  most  amiable 
young  man  in  the  kingdom  ; and  he  is  my  friend  ! Indeed,  as 
things  have  happened,  you  must  think  that  out  of  evil  has  come 
good.  Though  I have  been  disobedient,  I have  repented  my 
fault,  and  it  has  introduced  me  to  the  knowledge  of  a people 
whose  friendship  will  henceforward  ‘constitute  the  greatest 
pleasure  of  my  days.  The  mother  of  Thaddeus  is  the  oAily 
daughter  of  the  palatine  ; and  of  her  I can  say  no  more  than 
that  nothing  on  earth  can  more  remind  me  of  you ; she  is 
equally  charming,  equally  tender  to  your  son. 

‘‘  Whilst  the  palatine  is  engaged  at  the  diet,  her  excellency, 
Thaddeus,  and  myself,  with  now  and  then  a few  visitors  from 
Warsaw,  form  the  most  agreeable  parties  you  can  suppose. 
We  walk  together,  we  read  together,  we  converse  together,  we 
sing  together — at  least,  the  countess  sings  to  us,  which  is  all 
the  same  ; and  you  know  that  time  flies  swiftly  on  the  wir^gs 
of  harmony.  She  has  an  uncommonly  sweet  voice,  and  a 
taste  which  I never  heard  paralleled.  By  the  way,  you  cannot 

* Prince^  (ancient  Kniaz^)  and  Boyard,  (which  is  equivalent  in  rank  to  our  old  Enj,\lish 
Karon,)  are  titles  used  by  Russians  and  Polanders,  both  nations  being  descended  from  the 
Sclavonians,  and  their  languages  derived  from  the  same  roots.  Prince  indicates  the  high- 
est rank  of  a subject  ; Bcyard  simply  tha.t  oi  Nobleman.  But  both  personages  must  be 
understood  to  be  of  hereditary  power  to  raise  forces  on  their  estates  for  the  service  of  the 
sovereign,  to  lead  them  in  battle,  and  to  maintain  all  their  expenses.  The  title  of  Couni  has 
been  adopted  within  a century  or  two  by  both  nations,  and  occasionally  appended  to  the  an- 
cient heroic  designation  of  Boyar d.  The  feminine  to  these  titles  is  formed  by  adding  ^v«i* 
to  the  paternal  title  ; thus  Kniazgina  Olgce^  means  Princess  Olga  ; also,  Boyarda,  Liidy, 
The  titles  of  Pala^tine^  Vaivode^  Siarosi  and  the  like  belong  to  civil  and  military  offic<  x^ 


THADDEUS  OF  WA ESA  TV. 


59 


imagine  anything  more  beautiful  than  the  Polish  music.  It  par- 
takes of  that  delicious  languor  so  distinguished  in  the  Turkish 
airs,  with  a mingling  of  those  wandering  melodies  which  the 
now-forgotten  composers  must  have  caught  from  the  Tartars. 
In  short,  whilst  the  countess  is  singing,  I hardly  suffer  myself 
to  breathe  ; and  I feel  just  what  our  poetical  "friend  William 
Scarsdale  said  a twelvemonth  ago  at  a concert  of  yours,  ‘ I 
feel  as  if  love  sat  upon  my  heart  and  flapped  it  with  his  wings.' 

“ I have  tried  all  my  powers  of  persuasion  to  prevail  on  this 
charming  countess  to  visit  our  country.  I have  over  and  over 
again  told  her  of  you,  and  described  her  to  you  ; that  you  are 
near  her' own  age,  (for  this  lovely  woman,  though  she  has  a son 
nearly  twenty,  is  not  more  than  forty ;)  that  you  are  as  fond  of 
your  ordinary  boy  as  she  is  of  her  peerless  one  ; that,  in  short, 
you  and  my  father  will  receive  her  and  Thaddeus,  and  the  pala- 
tine, with  open  arms  and  hearts,  if  they  will  condescend  to 
visit  our  humbler  home  at  the  end  of  the  war.  I believe  I 
have  repeated  my  entreaties,  both  to  the  countess  and  my 
friend,  regularly  every  day  since  my  arrival  at  Villanow,  but 
always  with  the  same  issue:  she  smiles  and  refuses;  arid 
Thaddeus  ‘shakes  his  ambrosial  curls ' with  a ‘ very  god-like 
frown  ' of  denial  ; I hope  it  is  self-denial,  in  compliment  to  his 
mother’s  cruel  and  unprovoked  negative. 

“ Before  I proceed,  I must  give  you  some  idea  of  the  red 
appearance  of  this  palace.  I recollect  your  having  read  a 
superficial  account  of  it  in  a few  slight  sketches  of  Poland  which 
have  been  published  in  England ; but  the  pictures  they  exhibit 
are  so  faint,  they  hardly  resemble  the  original.  Pray  do  not 
laugh  at  me,  if  I begin  in  the  usual  descriptive  style  ! You  know 
there  is  only  one  way  to  describe  houses  and  lands  and  rivers  ; 
so  no  blame  can  be  thrown  on  me  for  taking  the  beaten  path, 
where  there  is  no  other.  To  commence  : — 

“ When  we  left  Zielime,  and  advanced  into  the  province  of 
Masovia,  the  country  around  Praga  rose  at  every  step  in  fresh 
beauty.  The  numberless  chains  of  gently  swelling  hills  which 
encompass  it  on  each  side  of  the  Vistula  were  in  some  parts 
checkered  with  corn-fields,  meadows,  and  green  pastures  cov- 
ered with  sheep,  whose  soft  bleatings  thrilled  in  my  ears  and 
transported  my  senses  into  new  regions,  so  different  was  i7\y 
charmed  and  tranquillized  mind  from  the  tossing  anxieti<?s 
attendant  on  the  horrors  I had  recently  witnessed.  Surely 
there  is  nothing  in  the  world,  short  of  the  most  undivided 
reciprocal  attachment,  that  has  such  power  over  the  workings 
of  the  human  heart  as  the  mild  sweetness  of  nature.  The 


6o 


TH A DDE  US  OF  I FA  ESA  IV. 


most  ruffled  temper,  when  emerging  [roni  the  town,  will  subside 
into  a calm  at  the  sight  of  a wide  stretch  of  landscape  reposing 
in  the  twilight  of  a fine  evening.  It  is  then  that  the  spirit 
of  peace  settles  upon  the  heart,  unfetters  the  thoughts  and 
elevates  the  soul  to  the  Creator.  It  is  then  that  we  behold 
the  Parent  of  the  universe  in  his  works  ; we  see  his  grandeur 
in  earth,  sea,  and  sky  : we  feel  his  affection  in  the  emotions 
which  they  raise,  and,  half  mortal,  half  etherealized,  forget 
where  we  are,  in  the  anticipation  of  what  that  world  must  be  of 
which  this  earth  is  merely  the  shadow."^ 

‘C\utumn  seemed  to  be  unfolding  all  her  beauties  to  greet 
the  return  of  the  palatine.  In  one  part  the  haymakers  were 
mowing  the  hay  and  heaping  it  into  stacks ; in  another,  the 
reapers  were  gathering  up  the  wheat,  with  a troop  of  rosy  little 
gleaners  behind  them,  each  of  whom  might  have  tempted  the 
proudest  Palemon  in  Christendom  to  have  changed  her  toil 
into  ‘ a gentler  duty.’  Such  a landscape  intermingled  with  the 
little  farms  of  these  honest  people,  whom  the  philanthropy  of 
Sobieski  has  rendered  free  (for  it  is  a tract  of  his  extensive 
domains  I am  describing),  reminded  me  of  Somerset.  Vil- 
lages repose  in  the  green  hollows  of  the  vales,  and  cottages 
are  seen  peeping  from  amidst  the  thick  umbrage  of  the  woods 
which  cover  the  face  of  the  hills.  The  irregular  forms  and 
thatched  roofs  of  these  simple  habitations,  with  their  infant 
inhabitants  playing  at  the  doors,  compose  such  lovely  groups, 
that  I wish  for  our  dear  Mary’s  pencil  and.  fingers  (for,  alas  ! 
that  way  mine  are  motionless!)  to  transport  them  to  your 
eyes. 

‘‘  The  palace  of  Villanow,  which  is  castellated,  now  burst 
upon  my  view.  It  rears  its  embattled  head  from  the  summit 
of  a hill  that  gradually  slopes  down  towards  the  Vistula,  in  full 
view  to  the  south  of  the  plain  of  Vola,  a spot  long  famous  for 
the  election  of  the  kings  of  Poland. f On  the  north  of  the 

This  description  of  the  banks  of  the  Vistula  was  given  to  me  with  smiles  and  sighs.  The 
reality  was  once  enjoyed  by  the  narrator,  and  there  was  a delight  in  the  retrospection  “sweet 
and  mournful  to  the  soul.”  At  the  time  these  reflections  arose  on  such  a scene,  I often 
tasted  the  same  pleasure  in  evening  visits  to  the  beautiful  rural  environs  of  London,  which 
then  extended  from  the  north  side  of  Fitzroy  Square  to  beyond  the  Elm  Grove  on  Primrose 
Hill,  and  forward  through  the  fields  to  Hampstead.  But  most  of  that  is  all  streets,  or 
Regent’s  Park  ; and  the  sweet  Hill,  then  the  resort  of  many  a happy  Sunday  group,  has 
not  now  a tree  standing  on  it,  and  hardly  a blade  of  grass,  “ to  mark  where  the  primrose 
has  been.’’ 

t It  was  from  this  very  assumption  by  the  nation,  on  the  extinction  of  the  male  line  of 
the  monarchs  of  the  house  of  Jaghellon,  that  all  their  subsequent  political  calamities  may 
be  dated.  The  last  two  sovereigns  of  this  race  were  most  justly  styled  good  and  great  kings 
— father  and  son — Sigismund  I.  and  II.  But  on  the  death  of  the  last,  about  the  middle  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  certain  nobles  of  the  nation,  intoxicated  with  their  wealth  and  privi- 
leges, ran  wild  for  dictation  in  all  things  ; and  as  the  foundation  for  such  rule,  they  deter- 
mined to  make  the  succession  of  their  future  kings  entirely  dependent  on  the  free  vote  of 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


6t 


building,  the  earth  is  cut  into  natural  ramparts,  which  rise  in 
high  succession  until  they  reach  the  foundations  of  the  palace, 
where  they  terminate  in  a noble  terrace.  These  ramparts, 
covered  with  grass,  overlook  the  stone  outworks,  and  spread 
down  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  which  being  clothed  with  fine 
trees  and  luxuriant  underwood,  forms  such  a rich  and  verdant 
base  to  the  fortress  as  I have  not  language  to  describe  : were 
I privileged  to  be  poetical,  I would  say  it  reminds  me  of  the 
God  of  war  sleeping  amid  roses  in  the  bower  of  love.  Here 
the  eye  may  wander  over  the  gifts  of  bounteous  Nature,  array- 
ing hill  and  dale  in  all  the  united  treasures  of  spring  and 
autumn.  The  forest  stretches  its  yet  unseared  arms  to  the 
breeze  ; whilst  that  breeze  comes  laden  with  the  fragrance  of 
the  tented  hay,  and  the  thousand  sweets  breathed  from  flowers, 
which  in  this  delicious  country  weep  honey. 

A magnificent  flight  of  steps  led  us  from  the  foot  of  the 
ramparts  up  to  the  gate  of  the  palace.  We  entered  it,  and 
were  presently  surrounded  by  a train  of  attendants  in  such 
sumptuous  liveries,  than  I found  myself  all  at  once  carried  back 
into  the  fifteenth  century,  and  might  have  fancied  myself  within 
the  courtly  halls  of  our  Tudors  and  Plantagenets.  You  can 
better  conceive  that  I can  paint  the  scene  which  took  place 
between  the  palatine,  the  countess,  and  her  son.  I can  only 
repeat,  that  from  that  hour  I have  known  no  want  of  happiness 
but  what  arises, from  regret  that  my  dear  family  are  not  par- 
takers with  me. 

“ You  know  that  this  stupendous  building  was  the  favorite 
residence  of  John  Sobieski,  and  that  he  erected  it  as  a resting- 
place  from  the  labors  of  his  long  and  glorious  reign.  1 cannot 
move  without  meeting  some  vestige  of  that  truly  great  monarch. 
I sleep  in  his  bed  chamber : there  hangs  his  portrait,  dressed 
in  the  robes  of  sovereignty ; here  are  suspended  the  arms  with 
which  he  saved  the  very  kingdoms  which  have  now  met  together 
to  destroy  his  country.  On  one  side  is  his  library;  on  the 

public’  suffrage  ; and  the  plain  of  Vola  was  made  the  terrible  arena.  So  it  may  be  called  ; 
for,  from  the  time  of  the  first  monarch  so  elected,  Henry  of  Valois,  a stranger  to  the  coun- 
try, and  brother  to  the  execrable  Charles  IX.  of  France,  bribery  or  violence  have  been  the 
usual  keys  to  the  throne  of  Poland.  For  the  doors  of  the  country  being  once  opened  by 
the  misguided  people  themselves  to  the  influence  of  ambition,  partiality,  and  passion,  and 
shut  against  the  old  tenure  of  a settled  succession,  foreign  powers  were  always  ready  to  step 
in,  with  the  gold  or  the  sword;  and  Poland  necessarily  became  a vassal  adjunct  to  whatever 
neighboring  country  furnished  the  new  sovereign.  Thus  it  was,  with  a few  exceptions  (as 
in  the  case  of  the  glorious  John  Sobieski),  until  the  election  of  Stanislaus  Augustus,  who, 
though  nominated  by  the  power  of  the  Empress  of  Russia,  yet  being,  like  Sobieski,  a native 
prince  of  the  nation,  determined  to  govern  the  people  of  Poland  in  the  sinrit  of  his  and 
their  most  glorious  ancestors;  and  true  to  the  vow,  treading  in  the  steps  oi  the  last  of  the 
Jaghellons,  he  gave  to  Poland  the  constitution  of  1791,  which,  with  the  re-enaction  of  many 
wise  laws,  again  made  the  throne  hereditary.  Hence  the  devoted  struggles  of  every  arm  in 
the  ccuntry  in  loyal  defence  of  such  a recovered  existence. 


62 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


o'iher,  the  little  chapel  in  which  he  used  to  pay  his  morning 
aiad  evening  devotions.  Wherever  I look,  my  eye  finds  some 
object  to  excite  my  reflections  and  emulation.  The  noble  dead 
seem  to  address  me  from  their  graves  ; and  I blush  at  the  in 
glorious  life  I might  have  pursued  had  I never  visited  this  house 
and  its  inhabitants.  Yet,  my  dearest  mother,  I do  not  mean 
to  insinuate  that  my  honored  father  and  brave  ancestors  have 
not  set  me  examples  as  bright  as  man  need  follow.  But 
human  nature  is  capricious ; we  are  not  so  easily  stimulated  by 
what  is  always  in  our  view  as  with  sights  which,  rising  up  when 
we  are  removed  from  our  customary  associations,  surprise  and 
captivate  our  attention.  Villanow  has  only  awakened  me  to 
the  lesson  which  I conned  over  in  drowsy  carelessness  at  home. 
Thaddeus  Sobieski  is  hardly  one  year  my  senior;  but,  good 
heaven  ! what  has  he  not  done  ? what  has  he  not  acquired  ? 
Whilst  I abused  the  indulgence  of  my  parents,  and  wasted  my 
days  in  riding,  shooting,  and  walking  the  streets,  he  was  learn- 
ing to  act  as  became  a man  of  rank  and  virtue ; and  by  seizing 
ev^ery  opportunity  to  serve  the  state,  he  has  obtained  a rich 
reward  in  the  respect  and  admiration  of  his  country.  1 am  not 
envious,  but  I now  feel  the  truth  of  Caesar’s  speech,  when  he 
declared  ‘ The  reputation  of  Alexander  would  not  let  him 
sleep.’  Nevertheless,  I dearly  love  my  friend.  1 murmur  at 
my  own  demerits,  not  at  his  worth. 

“ I have  scribbled  over  all  my  paper,  otherwise  I verily 
believe  I should  write  more ; however,  I prorhise  you  another 
hitter  in  a week  or  two.  Meanwhile  I shall  send  this  packet 
to  Mr.  Loftus,  who  is  at  St.  Petersburg,  to  forward  it  to  you. 
Adieu,  my  dear  mother ! I am,  with  reverence  to  my  father 
and  yourself, 

Your  truly  affectionate  son, 

'‘Pembroke  Somerset. 


Villanow,  August,  1792.’ 


THADDEUS  OF  WAKSAVK 


^3 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SOCIETY  IN  POLAND. 

‘‘To  Lady  Somerset,  Somerset  Castle,  England. 

[Written  three  weeks  after  the  preceding.] 

“ You  know,  my  dear  mother,  that  your  Pembroke  is  famous 
for  his  ingenious  mode  of  showing  the  full  value  of  every  favor 
he  confers  1 Can  I then  relinquish  the  temptation  of  telling 
you  what  I liave  left  to  make  you  happy  with  this  epistle  ? 

“ About  five  minutes  ago,  I was  sitting  on  the  lawn  at  the 
j[eet  of  the  countess,  reading  to  her  and  the  Princess  Poniatow- 
.ski  the  charming  poem  of  ‘The  Pleasures  of  Memory.’  As 
both  these  ladies  understand  English,  they  were  admiring  it, 
and  paying  many  compliments  to  the  graces  of  my  delivery, 
when  the  palatine  presented  himself,  and  told  me,  if  I had  any 
commands  for  St.  Petersburg,  I must  prepare  them,  for  a mes- 
senger was  to  set  off  on  the  next  morning,  by  daybreak.’  1 
instantly  sprang  up,  threw  my  book  into  the  hand  of  'hhaddeus, 
and  here  1 am  in  my  own  room  scribbling  to  you  ! 

“ Even  at  the  moment  in  which  1 dip  my  pen  in  the  ink,  my 
hurrying  imagination  paints  on  my  heart  the  situation  of  my 
beloved  home  when  this  letter  reaches  you.  I think  I see  you 
and  my  good  aunt,  seated  on  the  blue  sofa  in  your  dressing- 
room,  with  your  needle-work  on  the  little  table  before  you  ; 1 
see  Mary  in  her  usual  nook — the  recess  by  the  old  harpsichord 
— and  ray  dear  father  bringing  in  this  happy  letter  from  your  son  ! 
I must  confess  this  romantic  kind  of  fancy-sketching  makes  me 
feel  rather  oddly  : very  unlike  what  I felt  a few  months  ago, 
when  I was  a mere  coxcomb — indifferent,  unreflecting,  unap- 
preciating, and  fit  for  nothing  better  than  to  hold  pins  at  my 
lady’s  toilet.  Well,  it  is  now  made  evident  to  me  that  we  never 
know  the  blessings  bestowed  on  us  until  we  are  separated  from 
the  possession  of  them.  Absence  tightens  the  strings  which 
unites  friends  as  well  as  lovers  : at  least  I find  it  so  ; and 
though  I am  in  the  fruition  of  every  good  on  this  side  the  ocean, 
yet  my  very  happiness  renders  me  ungrateful,  and  I repine 


64 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


because  J enjoy  it  alone.  Positively,  I must  bring  you  all  hither 
to  pass  a summer,  or  come  back  at  the  termination  of  my 
travels,  and  carry  away  this  dear  family  by  main  force  to 
England. 

“ Tell  my  cousin  Mary  that,  either  way,  I shall  present  to 
her  esteem  the  most  amiable  and  accomplished  of  my  sex  ; but 
I warn  her  not  to  fall  in  love  with  him,  neither  in  proprid.  per- 
sond,  nor  by  his  public  fame,  nor  with  his  private  character. 
Tell  her  ‘ he  is  a bright  and  particular  star,’  neither  in  hfer 
sphere  nor  in  any  other  woman’s.  In  this  way  he  is  as  cold  as 
‘ Dian’s  Crescent ; ’ and  to  my  great  amazement  too,  for  when  I 
throw  my  eyes  over  the  many  lovely  young  women  who  at  dif- 
ferent times  fill  the  drawing-room  of  the  countess,  I cannot  but 
wonder  at  the  perfect  indifference  with  which  he  views  their  (to 
me)  irresistible  charms. 

He  is  polite  and  attentive  to  them  all ; he  talks  with  them, 
smiles  with  them,  and  treats  them  with  every  gentle  compla- 
cency; but  they  do  not  live  one  instant  in  his  memory.  I 
mean  they  do  not  occupy  his  particular  wishes  ; for  with  regard 
to  every  respectful  sentiment  towards  the  sex  in  general,  and 
esteem  to  some  amiable  individuals,  he  is  as  awake  as  in  the 
other  case  he  is  still  asleep.  The  fact  is,  he  has  no  idea  of  ap- 
propriation ; he  never  casts  one  thought  upon  himself ; kind- 
ness is  spontaneous  in  his  nature ; his  sunny  eyes  beam  on  all 
with  modest  benignity,  and  his  frank  and  glowing  conversation 
is  directed  to  every  rank  of  people.  They  imbibe  it  with  an 
avidity  and  love  which  makes  its  way  to  his  heart,  without 
kindling  one  spark  of  vanity.  Thus,  whilst  his  fine  person  and 
splendid  actions  fill  every  eye  and  bosom,  I see  him  moving  in 
the  circle  unconscious  of  his  eminence  and  the  admiration  he 
excites. 

‘‘  Drawn  by  such  an  example,  to  which  his  high  quality  as 
well  as  extraordinary  merit  gives  so  great  an  influence,  most  of 
the  younger  nobility  have  been  led  to  enter  the  army.  These 
circumstances,  added  to  the  detail  of  his  bravery  and  uncom- 
mon talents  in  the  field,  have  made  him  an  object  of  universal 
regard,  and,  in  consequence,  wherever  he  is  seen  he  meets  with 
applause  and  acclamation  : nay,  even  at  the  appearance  of  his 
carriage  in  the  streets,  the  passengers  take  off  their  hats  and 
pray  for  him  till  he  is  out  of  sight.  It  is  only  then  that  I per- 
ceive his  cheek  flush  with  the  conviction  that  he  is  seated  in 
their  hearts. 

‘ It  is  this,  Thaddeus,’  said  I to  him  one  day,  when  walking 
together  we  were  obliged  to  retire  into  a house  from  the  crowds 


THA  DDE  ^ E OF  WA  RSA  IV.  6 5 

what  followed  him  3 ‘ it  is  this,  my  dear  friend,  which  shields 
your  heart  against  the  arrows  of  love.  You  have  no  place  for 
that  passion ; your  mistress  is  glory,  and  she  courts  you.^ 

“ ‘ My  mistress  is  my  country,’  replied  he  ; ^ at  present  I 
desire  no  other.  For  her  I would  die  ; for  her  only  would  I 
wish  to  live.’  Whilst  he  spoke,  the  energy  of  his  soul  blazed  in 
his  eye.  I smiled. 

“ ‘You  are  an  enthusiast,  Thaddeus,’  I said. 

“ ‘ Pembroke  ! ’ returned  he,  in  a surprised  and  reproachful 
tone. 

“ ‘ I do  not  give  you  that  name  opprobriously,’  resumed  I, 
laughing;  ‘but  there  are  many  in  my  country,  who,  hearing 
these  sentiments,  would  not  scruple  to  call  you  mad.’ 

“ ‘ Then  I pity  them,’  returned  Thaddeus.  ‘ Men  who  can- 
not ardently  feel,  cannot  taste  supreme  happiness.  My  grand- 
father educated  me  at  the  feet  of  patriotism  ; and  when  I 
forget  his  precepts  and  example,  may  my  guardian  angel  forget 
me ! ’ 

“ ‘ Happy,  glorious  Thaddeus ! ’ cried  I,  grasping  his 
hand;  ‘how  I envy  you  your  destiny!  to  live  as  you  do,  in 
the  lap  of  honor,  virtue  and  glory  the  aim  and  end  of  your 
existence ! * 

“ The  animated  countenance  of  my  friend  changed  at  these 
words,  and  laying  his  hand  on  my  arm,  he  said,  ‘ Do  not  envy 
me  my  destiny.  Pembroke,  you  are  the  son  of  a free  and  loyal 
country,  at  peace  with  itself ; insatiate  power  has  not  dared  to 
invade  its  rights.  Your  king,  in  happy  security,  reigns  in  the 
confidence  of  his  people,  whilst  our  anointed  Stanislaus  is  baited 
and  insulted  by  oppression  from  without  and  ingratitude  within. 
Do  not  envy  me : I would  rather  live  in  obscurity  all  my  days 
than  have  the  means  which  calamity  may  produce  of  acquiring 
celebrity  over  the  ruins  of  Poland.  O ! my  friend,  the  wreath 
that  crowns  the  head  of  conquest  is  thick  and  bright ; but  that 
which  binds  the  olive  of  peace  on  the  bleeding  wounds  of  my 
country  will  be  the  dearest  to  me.’ 

“ Such  sentiments,  my  dear  madam,  have  opened  new  lights 
upon  my  poor  mistaken  faculties.  I never  considered  the  sul> 
ject  so  maturely  as  my  friend  has  done  ; victory  and  glory  were 
with  me  synonymous  words.  I had  not  learned,  until  frequent 
conversations  with  the  young,  ardent,  and  pious  Sobieski  taught 
me,  how  to  discriminate  between  animal  courage  and  true  valor 
' — between  the  defender  of  his  country  and  the  ravager  of 
other  states.  In  short,  I see  in  Thaddeus  Sobieski  all  that  my 


66 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 


fancy  hath  ever  pictured  of  the  heroic  character.  Whilst  I con- 
template  the  sublimity  of  his  sentiments  and  the  tenderness  of 
his  soul,  I cannot  help  thinking  how  few  would  believe  that  so 
many  admirable  qualities  could  belong  to  one  mind,  and  that 
mind  remain  unacquainted  with  the  throes  of  ambition  or  the 
throbs  of  self-love.” 

Pembroke  judged  rightly  of  his  friend  ; for  if  ever  the  real 
disinterested  amor  patrico  glowed  in  the  breast  of  a man,  it 
animated  the  heart  of  the  young  Sobieski.  At  the  termination 
of  the  foregoing  sentence  in  the  letter  to  his  mother,  Pembroke 
was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a servant,  who  presented 
him  a packet  which  had  that  moment  arrived  from  St.  Peters- 
burg. He  took  it,  and  putting  his  writing  materials  into  a desk, 
read  the  following  epistle  from  his  governor  • 


“To  Pembroke  Somerset,  Esq. 

“ My  dear  sir, 

“ I have  this  day  received  your  letter,  enclosing  one  for 
Lady  Somerset.  You  must  pardon  me  that  I have  detained  it, 
and  will  continue  to  do  so  until  I am  favored  with  your  answer 
to  this,  for  which  I shall  most  anxiously  wait. 

“ You  know,  Mr.  Somerset,  my  reputation  in  the  sciences ; 
you  know  my  depth  in  the  languages  ; and  besides,  the  Mar- 
quis of  Inverary,  with  whom  I travelled  over  the  Continent, 
offered  you  sufficient  credentials  respecting  my  knowledge  of 
the  world,  and  the  honorable  manner  in  which  I treat  my  pupils. 
Sir  Robert  Somerset  and  your  lady  mother  were  amply  satisfied 
with  the  account  which  his  lordship  gave  of  my  character  ; but 
with  all  this,  in  one  point  every  man  is  vulnerable.  No  scholar 
can  forget  those  lines  of  the  poet ; — 

‘ Felices  ter,  et  amplius, 

Quos  irrupta  tenet  copula  ; nec  mails 
Divulsus  quaerimoniis, 

Suprema  citius  solvet  amor  die.* 

It  has  been  my  misfortune  that  I have  felt  them. 

“ You  are  not  ignorant  that  I was  known  to  the  Brinicki 
family,  when  I had  the  honor  of  conducting  the  marquis  through 
Russia.  The  count’s  accomplished  kinswoman,  the  amiable 
and  learned  widow  of  Baron  Surowkoff,  even  then  took  partic- 
ular notice  of  me  ; and  when  I returned  with  you  to  St.  Peters- 


• THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  67 

burg,  I did  not  find  that  my  short  absence  had  obliterated  me 
from  her  memory. 

“You  are  well  acquainted  with  the  dignity  of  that  lady’s 
opinions  on  political  subjects.  She  and  I coincided  in  ardor 
for  the  consolidating  cause  of  sovereignty,  and  in  hatred  of  that 
levelling  power  which  pervades  all  Europe.  Many  have  been 
the  long  and  interesting  conversations  we  have  held  together 
on  the  prosecution  of  the  grand  schemes  of  the  three  great  con- 
tracting monarchs. 

“ The  baroness,  I need  not  observe,  is  as  handsome  as  she 
is  ingenuous  ; her  understanding  is  as  masculine  as  her  person 
is  desirable  ; and  I had  been  more  or  less  than  man  had  I not 
understood  that  my  figure  and  talents  were  agreeable  to  her. 
I cannot  say  that  she  absolutely  promised  me  her  hand,  but  she 
went  as  far  that  way  as  delicacy  would  permit.  I am  thus  cir- 
cumstantial, Mr.  Somerset,  to  show  you  that  I do  not  proceed 
without  proof.  She  has  repeatedly  said  in  my  presence  that 
she  would  never  marry  any  man  unless  he  were  not  only  well- 
looking, but  of  the  profoundest  erudition,  united  with  an  ac- 
quaintaiice  with  men  and  manners  which  none  can  dispute. 
‘Besides,’  added  she,  ‘he  must  not  differ  with  me  one  tittle  in 
politics,  for  on  that  head  I hold  myself  second  to  no  man  or 
woman  in  Europe.’  And  then  she  has  complimented  me,  by 
declaring  that  I possessed  more  judicious  sentiments  on  govern- 
ment than  any  man  in  St.  Petersburg,  and  that  she  should  con- 
sider herself  happy,  on  the  first  vacancy  in  the  imperial  college, 
to  introduce  me  at  court,  where  she  was  ‘ sure  the  empress  would 
at  once  discover  the  value  of  my  talents ; but,’  she  continued, 
‘ in  such  a case,  I will  not  allow  that  even  her  majesty  shall 
rival  me  in  your  esteem.’  The  modesty  natural  to  my  charac- 
ter told  me  that  these  praises  must  have  some  other  source  tlian 
my  comparatively  unequal  abilities  ; and  I unequivocally  found 
it  in  the  partiality  with  which  her  ladyship  condescended  to  re- 
gard me. 

“ Was  I to  blame,  Mr.  Somerset  ? Would  not  any  man  of 
sensibility  and  honor  have  comprehended  such  advances  from 
a woman  of  her  rank  and  reputation  ? I could  not  be  mistaken  ; 
her  looks  and  words  needed  no  explanation  which  my  judgment 
could  not  pronounce.  Though  I am  aware  that  I do  not  possess 
Xhdiiltmen piirpiu'cum  juvenice  which  attracts  very  young,  unedu- 
cated women,  yet  I am  not  much  turned  of  fifty ; and  from  the 
baroness’s  singular  behavior,  1 had  every  reason  to  expect  hand- 
somer treatment  than  she  has  been  pleased  to  dispense  to  me 
since  my  return  to  this  capital. 


68 


THADDFMS  OP  WARS  A W. 


But  to  proceed  regularly — (I  must  beg  your  pardon  for  the 
warmth  which  has  hurried  me  to  this  digression) : you  know, 
sir,  that  from  the  hour  in  which  I had  the  honor  of  taking  leave 
of  your  noble  family  in  England,  I strove  to  impress  upon  your 
rather  volatile  mind  a just  and  accurate  conception  of  the 
people  amongst  whom  I was  to  conduct  you.  When  I brought 
you  into  this  extensive  empire,  I left  no  means  unexerted  to 
heighten  your  respect  not  only  for  its  amiable  sovereign,  but 
for  all  powers  in  amity  with  her.  It  is  the  characteristic  of 
genius  to  be  zealous.  I was  so,  in  favor  of  the  pretensions  of 
the  great  Catherine  to  that  miserable  country  in  which  you  now 
are,  and  to  which  she  deigned  to  offer  her  protection.  To  this 
zeal,  and  my  unfortunate  though  honorable  devotion  to  the 
wishes  of  the  baroness,  I am  constrained  to  attribute  my  present 
dilemma. 

When  Poland  had  the  insolence  to  rebel  against  its  illus- 
trious mistress,  you  remember  that  all  the  rational  world  was 
highly  incensed.  The  Baroness  Surowkoff  declared  herself  fre- 
quently, and  with  vehemence  she  appealed  to  me.  . My  veracity 
and  my  principles  were  called  forth,  and  I confessed  that  I 
thought  every  friend  to  the  Tzaritza  ought  to  take  up  arms 
against  that  ungrateful  people.  The  Count  Brinicki  was  then 
appointed  to  command  the  Russian  forces  preparing  to  join  the 
formidable  allies ; and  her  ladyship,  very  unexpectedly  on  my 
part,  answered  me  by  approving  what  I said,  and  added  that 
of  course  I meant  to  follow  her  cousin  into  Poland,  for  that 
even  she,  as  a woman,  was  so  earnest  in  the  cause,  she  would 
accompany  him  to  the  frontiers,  and  there  await  the  result. 

‘‘  What  could  I do  ? How  could  I withstand  the  expecta- 
tions of  a lady  of  her  quality,  and  one  who  I believed  loved  me  ? 
However,  for  some  time  I did  oppose  my  wish  to  oblige  her ; I 
urged  my  cloth,  and  the  impossibility  of  accounting  for  such  a 
line  of  conduct  to  the  father  of  my  pupil  ? The  baroness  ridi- 
culed all  these  arguments  as  mere  excuses,  and  ended  with  say- 
ing, Do  as  you  please,  Mr.  Loftus.  I have  been  deceived  in 
your  character ; the  friend  of  the  Baroness  Surowkoff  must  be 
consistent ; he  must  be  as  willing  to  fight  for  the  cause  he  es- 
pouses as  to  speak  for  it : in  this  case,  the  sword  must  follow  the 
oration,  else  we  shall  see  Poland  in  the  hands  of  a rabble.’ 

“ This  decided  me.  I offered  my  services  to  the  count  to 
attend  him  to  the  field.  He  and  the  young  lords  persuaded  you 
to  do  the  same  ; and  as  I could  not  think  of  leaving  you,  when 
your  father  had  placed  you  under  my  charge,  I was  pleased  to 
find  that  my  approval  confirmed  your  wish  to  turn  soldier.  I 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


69 

was  not  then  acquainted,  Mr.  Somerset  (for  you  did  not  tell 
me  of  it  until  we  were  far  advanced  into  Poland),  with  Sir 
Robert’s  and  my  lady’s  dislike  of  the  army.  This  has  been  a 
prime  source  of  my  error  throughout  this  affair.  Had  I known 
their  repugnance  to  your  taking  up  arms,  my  duty  would  have 
triumphed  over  even  my  devotion  to  the  baroness  ; but  I was 
born  under  a melancholy  horoscope  \ nothing  happens  as  any 
one  of  my  humblest  wishes  might  warrant. 

At  the  first  onset  of  the  battle,  I became  so  suddenly  ill 
that  I was  obliged  to  retire  ; and  on  this  unfortunate  event, 
which  was  completely  unwilled  on  my  part  (for  no  man  can  com- 
mand the  periods  of  sickness),  the  baroness  founded  a contempt 
which  has  disconcerted  all  my  schemes.  Besides,  when  1 at- 
tempted to  remonstrate  with  her  ladyship  on  the  promise  which, 
if  not  directly  given,  was  implied,  she  laughed  at  me  ; and  when 
I persisted  in  my  suit,  all  at  once,  like  the  rest  of  her  ungrate- 
ful and  undistinguishing  sex,  she  burst  into  a tempest  of  invec- 
tives, and  forbade  me  her  presence. 

“ What  am  I now  to  do,  Mr.  Somerset  ? This  inconsistent 
woman  has  betrayed  me  into  conduct  diametrically  opposite  to 
the  commands  of  your  family.  Your  father  particularly  desired 
that  I would  not  suffer  you  to  go  either  into  Hungary  or  Poland. 
In  the  last  instance  I have  permitted  you  to  disobey  him.  And 
my  Lady  Somerset  (who,  alas  ! I now  remember  lost  both  her 
father  and  brother  in  different  engagements),  you  tell  me,  had 
declared  that  she  never  would  pardon  the  man  who  should  put 
military  ideas  into  your  head. 

“ Therefore,  sir,  though  you  are  my  pupil,  I throw  myself  on 
your  generosity.  If  you  persist  in  acquainting  your  family  with 
the  late  transactions  at  Zielime,  and  your  present  residence  in 
Poland,  I shall  finally  be  ruined.  I shall  not  only  forfeit  the 
good  opinion  of  your  noble  father  and  mother,  but  lose  all  pros- 
pect of  the  living  of  Somerset,  which  Sir  Robert  was  so  gra- 
cious as  to  promise  should  be  mine  on  the  demise  of  the  pres- 
ent incumbent.  You  know,  Mr.  Somerset,  that  I have  a mother 
and  six  sisters  in  Wales,  whose  support  depends  on  my  success 
in  life  ; if  my  preferment  be  stopped  now,  they  must  necessarily 
be  involved  in  a distress  which  makes  me  shudder. 

‘‘  I cannot  add  more,  sir ; I know  well  your  character  for 
generosity,  and  I therefore  rest  upon  it  with  the  utmost  confi- 
dence. I shall  detain  the  letter  which  you  did  me  the  honor  to 
enclose  for  my  Lady  Somerset  till  I receive  your  decision ; and 
ever,  whilst  I live,  will  I henceforth  remain  firm  to  my  old  and 
favorite  maxim,  which  I adopted  from  the  glorious  epistle  of 


70 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


Horace  lo  Numicius.  Perhaps  you  may  not  recollect  the  lines  ? 
They  run  thus  : — 

Nil  admirari,  prope  res  est  una,  Numici, 

Solaque,  quae  possit  facere  et  servare  beatum. 

‘‘  I have  the  honor  to  be, 

‘‘  Dear  sir, 

Your  most  obedient  servant, 

Andrew  Loftus. 

“ St.  Petersburg,  September^  1792/’ 

P.  S.  Just  as  I was  about  sealing  this  packet,  the  Eng- 
lish ambassador  forwarded  to  me  a short  letter  from  your 
father,  in  which  he.  desires  us  to  quit  Russia,  and  to  make  the 
best  of  our  way  to  England,  where  you  are  wanted  on  a most 
urgent  occasion.  He  explains  himself  no  further,  only  repeat- 
ing his  orders  in  express  commands  that  we  set  off  instantly. 
I wait  your  directions.’’ 

This  epistle  disconcerted  Mr.  Somerset.  He  always  guessed 
the  Baroness  Surowkoff  was  amusing  herself  with  his  vain  and 
pedantic  preceptor ; but  he  never  entertained  a suspicion  that 
her  ladyship  would  carry  her  pleasantry  to  so  cruel  an  excess. 
He  clearly  saw  that  the  fears  of  Mr.  Loftus  with  regard  to  the 
displeasure  of  his  parents  were  far  from  groundless  ; and  there  - 
fore,  as  there  was  no  doubt,  from  the  extreme  age  of  Di. 
Manners,  that  the  rectory  of  Somerset  would  soon  become 
vacant,  he  thought  it  better  to  oblige  his  poor  governor,  and 
preserve  their  secret  for  a month  or  two,  than  to  give  him  up 
to  the  indignation  of  Sir  Robert.  On  these  grounds,  Pem- 
broke resolved  to  write  to  Mr.  Loftus,  and  ease  the  anxiety  of 
his  heart.  Although  he  ridiculed  his  vanity,  he  could  not  help 
respecting  the  affectionate  solicitude  of  a son  and  a brother, 
and  as  that  plea  had  won  him,  half  angry,  half  grieved,  and 
half  laughing,  he  dispatched  a few  hasty  lines. 

“ To  THE  Reverend  Andrew  Loftus,  St.  Petersburg. 

“ What  whimsical  fit,  my  dear  sir,  has  seized  my  father, 
that  I am  recalled  at  a moment’s  notice  ? P'aith,  I am  so  mad 
at  the  summons,  and  at  his  not  deigning  to  assign  a reason  for 
his  order,  that  I do  not  know  how  I may  be  tempted  to  act. 

“ Another  thing,  you  beg  of  me  not  to  say  a word  of  my 
having  been  in  Poland  ; and  for  that  purpose  you  have  with- 
held the  letter  which  I sent  to  you  to  forward  to  my  mother! 


THABDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


71 


You  offer  far-fetched  and  precious  excuses  for  having  betrayed 
your  own  wisdom,  and  your  pupil’s  innocence,  into  so  mortal 
an  offence.  One  cause  of  my  being  here,  you  say,  was  your 
‘ardor  in  the  cause  of  insulted  Russia,  and  your  hatred  of 
that  levelling  power  which  pervades  all  Europe.’ 

“ Well,  I grant  it.  I understood  from  you  and  Brinicki 
that  you  were  leading  me  against  a set  of  violent,  discontented 
men  of  rank,  who,  in  proportion  as  each  was  inflated  with  his 
own  personal  pride,  despised  all  of  their  own  order  who  did 
not  agree  with  them,  and,  coalescing  together  under  the  name 
of  freedom,  were  introducing  anarchy  throughout  a country 
which  Catharine  would  graciously  have  protected.  All  this  I 
find  to  be  in  error.  But  both  of  you  may  have  been  misled  : 
the  count  by  partiality  and  you  by  misrepresentation  ; tliere- 
fore  I do  not. perceive  why  you  should  be  in  such  a terror. 
The  wisest  man  in  the  world  may  see  through  bad  lights  ; and 
why  should  you  think  my  father  would  never  pardon  you  for 
having  been  so  unlucky  ? 

‘‘  Yet  to  dispel  your  dread  of  such  tidings  ruining  you  with 
Sir  Robert,  I will  not  be  the  first  to  tell  him  of  our  quixoting. 
Only  remember,  my  good  sir, — though,  to  oblige  you,  I with- 
hold my  letters  to  my  mother,  and  when  I arrive  in  England 
shall  lock  up  my  lips  from  mentioning  Poland, — that  positively, 
I will  not  be  mute  one  day  longer  than  that  in  which  my  father 
presents  you  with  the  living  of  Somerset ; then  you  will  be  in- 
dependent of  his  displeasure,  and  I may,  and  will,  declare  my 
everlasting  gratitude  to  this  illustrious  family. 

“ I am  half  mad  when  I think  of  leaving  them.  I must 
now  tear  myself  from  this  mansion  of  comfort  and  affection,  to 
wander  with  you  in  some  rumbling  old  barouche  ‘ over  brake  and 
through  briar  ! ’ Well,  patience  ! Another  such  upset  to  your 
friends  of  the  Neva,  and  with  ‘ victory  perched  like  an  eagle 
on  their  laurelled  bxows,’  I may  have  some  chance  of  wooing 
the  Sobieskis  to  the  banks  of  the  Thames.  At  present,  I have 
not  sufficient  hope  to  keep  me  in  good-humor. 

Meet  me  this  day  week  at  Dantzic : I shall  there  embark 
for  England.  You  had  best  not  bring  the  foreign  servants 
with  you  ; they  might  blab.  Discharge  them  at  St.  Petersburg, 
and  hire  a courier  for  yourself,  whom  we  may  drop  at  the 
seaport. 

“ I have  the  honor  to  remain, 

“ Dear  sir, 

“ Your  most  obedient  servant, 

Pembroke  Somerset 

“ ViLLANOW,  September.,  1792.” 


^2 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


When  Somerset  joined  his  friends  at  supper,  and  imparted 
to  them  the  commands  of  his  father,  an  immediate  change  was 
produced  in  the  spirits  of  the  party.  During  the  lamentations 
of  the  ladies  and  the  murmurs  of  the  young  men,  the  countess 
tried  to  dispel  the  effects  of  the  information  by  addressing 
Pembroke  with  a smile,  and  saying,  But  we  hope  that  you 
have  seen  enough  at  Villanow  to  tempt  you  back  again  at  no 
very  distant  period  ? Tell  Lady  Somerset  you  have  left  a 
second  mother  in  Poland,  who  will  long  to  receive  another 
visit  from  her  adopted  son.’’ 

Yes,  my  dear  madam,”  r^eturned  he ; “ and  I shall  hope, 
before  a very  distant  period,  to  see  those  two  kind  mothers 
united  as  intimately  by  friendship  as  they  are  in  my  heart.” 

Thaddeus  listened  with  a saddened  countenance.  He  had 
not  been  accustomed  to  the  thought  of  a long  separation,  and 
when  he  met  it  now,  he  hardly  knew  how  to  proportion  his 
uneasiness  to  the  privation.  Hope  and  all  the  hilarities  of 
youth  flushed  in  his  soul ; his  features  continually  glo^ved  with 
animation,  whilst  the  gay  beaming  of  his  eyes  ever  answered 
to  the  smile  on  his  lips.  Hence  the  slightest  veering  of  his 
mind  was  perceptible  to  the  countess,  who,  turning  round,  saw 
him  leaning  thoughtfully  in  his  chair,  whilst  Pembroke,  with 
increasing  vehemence,  was  running  through  various  invectives 
against  the  hastiness  of  his  recall. 

Come,  come,  Thaddeus ! ” cried  she ; let  us  think  no 
more  of  this  parting  until  it  arrives.  You  know  that  anticipa- 
tion of  evrl  is  the  death  of  happiness ; and  it  will  be  a kind  of 
suicide  should  we  destroy  the  hours  we  may  yet  enjoy  together 
in  vain  complainings  that  they  are  so  soon  to  terminate.” 

A little  exhortation  from  the  countess,  and  a maternal  kiss 
which  she  imprinted  on  his  cheek,  restored  him  to  cheerful- 
ness, and  the  evening  passed  more  pleasantly  than  it  had  por- 
tended. 

Much  as  the  palatine  esteemed  Pembroke  Somerset,  his 
mind  was  too  deeply  absorbed  in  the  condition  of  the  kingdom 
to  attend  to  less  considerable  cares.  He  beheld  his  country, 
even  on  the  verge  of  destruction,  awaiting  with  firmness  the 
approach  of  the  earthquake  which  threatened  to  ingulf  it  in 
the  neighboring  nations.  He  saw  the  storm  lowering  ; but  he 
determined,  whilst  there  remained  one  spot  of  vantage  ground 
above  the  general  wreck,  that  Poland  should  yet  have  a name 
and  a defender.  These  thoughts  possessed  him  ; these  plans 
engaged  him  ; and  he  had  not  leisure  to  regret  pleasure  when 
he  was  struggling  for  existence. 


TH A DDE  US  OF  IVARSAIV, 


73 


The  empress  continued  to  pour  her  armies  into  the  heart 
of  the  kingdom.  The  King  of  Prussia,  boldly  dying  from  his 
treaties,  marched  to  bid  her  colors  a conqueror’s  welcome ; 
and  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  following  the  example  of  so 
great  a prince,  did  not  blush  to  show  that  his  word  was  equally 
contemptible. 

Dispatches  daily  arrived  of  the  villages  being  laid  waste; 
that  neither  age,  sex,  nor  situation  shielded  the  unfortunate 
inhabitants,  and  that  all  the  frontier  provinces  were  in  flames. 

The  Diet  was  called, and  the  debates  agitated  with  the 
anxiety  of  men  who  were  met  to  decide  on  their  dearest  in- 
terests. The  bosom  of  the  benevolent  Stanislaus  bled  at  the 
dreadful  picture  of  his  people’s  sufferings,  and  hardly  able  to 
restrain  his  tears,  he  answered  the  animated  exordiums  of 
Sobieski  for  resistance  to  the  last  with  an  appeal  immediately 
to  his  heart. 

What  is  it  that  you  urge  me  to  do,  my  lord  } ” said  he. 

Was  it  not  to  secure  the  happiness  of  my  subjects  that  I 
labored  and  finding  my  designs  impracticable,  what  advantage 
would  it  be  to  them  should  I pertinaciously  oppose  their  small 
numbers  to  the  accumulated  array  of  two  empires,  and  of  a 
king  almost  as  powerful  as  either.  What  is  my  kingdom  but 
the  comfort  of  my  people  ? What  will  it  avail  me  to  see  them 
fall  around  me,  man  by  man,  and  the  few  who  remain  bending 
in  speechless  sorrow  over  their  graves  Such  a sight  would 
break  my  heart.  Poland  without  its  people  would  be  a desert, 
and  I a hermit  rather  than  a king.” 

In  vain  the  palatine  combated  these  arguments,  showing 
the  vain  quiet  such  a peace  might  afford,  by  declaring  it  could 
only  be  temporary.  In  vain  he  told  his  majesty  that  he  would 
purchase  safety  for  the  present  race  at  the  vast  expense  of  not 
only  the  liberty  of  posterity,  but  of  its  probity  and  happiness. 

‘‘  However  you  disguise  slavery,”  cried  he,  it  is  slavery  still. 
Its  chains,  though  wreathed  with  roses,  not  only  fasten  on  the 
body  but  rivet  on  the  mind.  They  bend  it  from  the  loftiest 
virtue  to  a debasement  beneath  calculation.  They  disgrace 
honor  ; they  trample  upon  justice.  They  transform  the  legions 
of  Rome  into  a band  of  singers.  They  prostrate  the  sons  of 
Athens  and  of  Sparta  at  the  feet  of  cowards.  They  make  man 
abjure  his  birth  right,  bind  himself  to  another’s  will,  and  give 
that  into  a tyrant’s  hands  which  he  received  as  a deposit  from 
Heaven — his  reason,  his  conscience,  and  his  soul.  Think  on 
this,  and  then,  if  you  can,  subjugate  Poland  to  her  enemies.” 

* The  constitutional  Diet  of  Poland  nearly  answers  in  principle  to  the  British  three 
estates  in  Parliament — King,  Lords,  and  Commons. 


74 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


Stanislaus,  weakened  by  years  and  subdued  by  disappoint- 
ment, now  retained  no  higher  wish  than  to  save  his  subjects 
from  immediate  outrage.  He  did  not  answer  the  palatine,  but 
with  streaming  eyes  bent  over  the  table,  and  annulled  the  glori- 
ous constitution  of  1791.  Then  with  emotions  hardly  short  of 
agony,  he  signed  an  order  presented  by  a plenipotentiary  from 
the  combined  powers,  which  directed  Prince  Poniatowski  to 
deliver  the  army  under  his  command  into  the  hands  of  General 
Brinicki. 

As  the  king  put  his  signature  to  these  papers,  Sobieski,  who 
had  strenuously  withstood  each  decision,  started  from  his  chair, 
bowed  to  his  sovereign,  and  in  silence  left  the  apartment 
Several  noblemen  followed  him. 

These  pacific  measures  did  not  meet  with  better  treatment 
from  without.  When  they  were  noised  abroad,  an  alarming 
commotion  arose  among  the  inhabitants  of  Warsaw,  and  nearly 
four  thousand  men  of  the  first  families  in  the  kingdom  assem- 
bled themselves  in  the  park  of  Villanow,  and  with  tumultuous 
eagerness  declared  their  resolution  to  resist  the  invaders  of 
their  country  to  their  last  gasp.  The  Prince  Sapieha,  Kosci- 
usko, and  Sobieski,  with  the  sage  Dombrowski,  were  the  first 
who  took  this  oath  of  fidelity  to  Poland  ; and  they  administered 
it  to  Thaddeus,  who,  kneeling  down,  inwardly  invoked  Heaven 
to|aid  him,  as  he  swore  to  fulfil  his  trust. 

In  the  midst  of  these  momentous  affairs,  Pembroke  Somer- 
set bade  adieu  to  his  Polish  friends,  and  set  sail  with  his 
governor  from  Dantzic  for  England. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  DIET  OF  POLAND. 

Those  winter  months  which  before  this  year  had  been  at 
Villanow  the  season  for  cheerfulness  and  festivity,  now  rolled 
away  in  the  sad  pomp  of  national  debates  and  military  assem- 
blies. 

Prussia  usurped  the  best  part  of  Pomerelia,  and  garrisoned 
it  with  troops  ; Catharine  declared  her  dominion  over  the  vast 
tract  of  land  which  lies  between  the  Dwina  and  Borysthenes  ; 
and  Frederick  William  marked  down  another  sweep  of  Polan^ 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


75 


to  follow  the  fate  of  Dantzic  and  of  Thorn,  while  watching  the 
dark  policy  of  Austria  regarding  its  selecting  portions  of  the 
dismembering  state. 

Calamities  and  insults  were  heaped  day  after  day  on  the 
defenceless  Poles.  The  deputies  of  the  provinces  were  put 
into  prison,  and  the  provisions  intended  for  the  king’s  table  in- 
terrupted and  appropriated  by  the  depredators  to  their  own  use. 
Sobieski  remonstrated  on  this  last  outrage  ; but  incensed  at  re- 
proof, and  irritated  at  the  sway  which  the  palatine  still  held, 
an  order  was  issued  for  all  the  Sobieski  estates  in  Lithuania 
and  Podolia  to  be  sequestrated  and  divided  between  four  of  the 
invading  generals. 

In  vain  the  Villanow  confederation  endeavored  to  remon- 
strate with  the  empress.  Her  ambassador  not  only  refused  to 
forward  the  dispatches,  but  threatened  the  nobles  “ if  they  did 
not  comply  with  every  one  of  his  demands,  he  would  lay  all  the 
estates,  possessions,  and  habitations  of  the  members  of  the 
Diet  under  an  immediate  military  execution.  Nay,  punishment 
should  not  stop  there  ; for  if  the  king  joined  the  Sobieski 
party  (to  which  he  now  appeared  inclined),  the  royal  domains 
should  not  only  meet  the  same  fate,  but  harsher  treatment 
should  follow,  until  both  the  people  and  their  proud  sovereign 
were  brought  into  due  subjection.” 

These  menaces  were  too  arrogant  to  have  any  other  effect 
upon  the  Poles  than  that  of  giving  a new  spur  to  their  resolu- 
tion. With  the  same  firmness  they  repulsed  similar  fulminations 
from  the  Prussian  ambassador,  and,  with  a coolness  which  was 
only  equalled  by  their  intrepidity,  they  prepared  to  resume  their 
arms. 

Hearing  by  private  information  that  their  threats  were  de- 
spised, next  morning,  before  daybreak,  these  despotic  envoys 
surrounded  the  building  where  the  confederation  was  sitting 
with  two  battalions  of  grenadiers  and  four  pieces  of  cannon, 
and  then  issued  orders  that  no  Pole  should  pass  the  gates  with- 
out being  fired  on.  General  Rautenfeld,  who  was  set  over  the 
person  of  the  king,  declared  that  not  even  his  majesty  might 
stir  until  the  Diet  had  given  an  unanimous  and  full  consent  to 
the  imperial  commands. 

The  Diet  set  forth  the  unlawfulness  of  signing  any  treaty 
whilst  thus  withheld  from  the  freedom  of  will  and  debate, 
i They  urged  that  it  was  not  legal  to  enter  into  deliberation  when 
I violence  had  recently  been  exerted  against  any  individual  of 
their  body ; and  how  could  they  do  it  now,  deprived  as  they 
were  of  five  of  their  principal  members,  whom  the  ambassadors 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


76 

well  knew  they  had  arrested  on  their  way  to  the  Senate  ? So 
bieski  and  four  of  his  friends  being  the  members  most  inimica^^ 
to  the  oppression  going  on,  were  these  five.  In  vain  their 
liberation  was  required;  and  enraged  at  the  pertinacity  of  this 
opposition,  Rautenfeld  repeated  the  former  threats,  with  the 
addition  of  more,  swearing  that  they  should  take  place  without 
appeal  if  the  Diet  did  not  directly  and  unconditionally  sign  the 
pretensions  both  of  his  court  and  that  of  Prussia. 

After  a hard  contention  of  many  hours,  the  members  at  last 
agreed  amongst  themselves  to  make  a solemn  public  protest 
against  the  present  tyrannous  measures  of  the  two  ambassadors  ; 
and  seeing  that  any  attempt  to  inspire  them  even  with  decency 
was  useless,  they  determined  to  cease  all  debate,  and  kept  a 
profound  silence  when  the  marshal  should  propose  the  project 
in  demand. 

This  sorrowful  silence  was  commenced  in  resentment  and 
retained  through  despair ; this  sorrowful  silence  was  called  by 
their  usurpers  a consent ; this  sorrowful  silence  is  held  up  to 
the  world  and  to  posterity  as  a free  cession  by  the  Poles  of  all 
those  rights  which  they  had  received  from  nature,  ratified  by 
laws,  and  defended  with  their  blood.* 

The  morning  after  this  dreadful  day,  the  Senate  met  at  one 
of  the  private  palaces  ; and,  indignant  and  broken-hearted, 
they  delivered  the  following  declaration  to  the  people  : — 

“ The  Diet  of  Poland,  hemmed  in  by  foreign  troops,  men- 
aced with  an  influx  of  the  enemy,  which  would  be  attended  by 
universal  ruin,  and  finally  insulted  by  a thousand  outrages,  have 
been  forced  to  witness  the  signing  of  a submissive  treaty  with 
their  enemies. 

The  Diet  had  strenuously  endeavored  to  have  added  to 
that  treaty  some  conditions  to  which  they  supposed  the  lament 
able  state  of  the  country  would  have  extorted  an  acquiescence, 
even  from  the  heart  of  a conqueror's  power.  But  the  Diet 
were  deceived  : they  found  such  power  was  unaccompanied  by 
humanity ; they  found  that  the  foe,  having  thrown  his  victim  to 
the  ground,  would  not  refrain  from  exulting  in  the  barbarous 
triumph  of  trampling  upon  her  neck. 

“ The  Diet  rely  on  the  justice  of  Poland — rely  on  her  belief 
that  they  would  not  betray  the  citadel  she  confided  to  their 
keeping.  Her  preservation  is  dearer  to  them  than  their  lives  ; 

* Thus,  like  the  curule  fathers  of  Rome,  they  sat  unyielding,  awaiting  the  threatened 
stroke.  But  the  dignity  of  virtue  held  her  shield  over  them  ; and  with  an  answering  silence 
on  the  part  of  the  confederated  ambassadors,  the  Diet-chamber  was  vacated. 


THADDEUS  OP  IVARSAVA 


77 


but  fate  seems  to  be  on  the  side  of  their  destroyer.  Fresh 
insults  have  been  heaped  upon  their  heads  and  new  hardships 
have  been  imposed  upon  them.  To  prevent  all  diliberations 
on  this  debasing  treaty,  they  are  not  only  surrounded  by  for- 
eign troops,  and  dared  with  hostile  message-s,  but  they  have 
been  violated  by  the  arrest  of  their  prime  members,  whilst 
those  who  are  still  suffered  to  possess  a personal  freedom  have 
the  most  galling  shackles  laid  upon  their  minds. 

Therefore,  I,  the  King  of  Poland,  enervated  by  age,  and 
6inking  under  the  accumulated  weight  of  my  kingdom’s  afflic- 
tions, and  also  we,  the  members  of  the  Diet,  declare  that, 
being  unable,  even  by  the  sacrifice  of  our  lives,  to  relieve  our 
country  from  the  yoke  of  its  oppressors,  we  consign  it  to  our 
children  and  the  justice  of  Heaven. 

‘‘  In  another  age,  means  may  be  found  to  rescue  it  from 
chains  and  misery ; but  such  means  are  not  put  in  our  power. 
Other  countries  neglect  us.  Whilst  they  reprobate  the  viola- 
tions which  a neighboring  nation  is  alleged  to  have  committed 
against  rational  liberty,  they  behold,  not  only  with  apathy  but 
with  approbation,  the  ravages  which  are  now  desolating  Poland. 
Posterity  must  avenge  it.  We  have  done.  We  accede  in 
silence,  for  the  reasons  above  mentioned,  to  the  treaty  laid 
before  us,  though  we  declare  that  it  is  contrary  to  our  wishes, 
to  our  sentiments^  and  to  our  rights.” 

Thus,  in  November,  1793,  compressed  to  one  fourth  of  her 
dimensions  by  the  lines  of  demarcation  drawn  by  her  invaders, 
Poland  was  stripped  ol  her  rank  in  Europe  ; her  power  de- 
livered up  to  strangers,  and  her  beauty  into  the  hands  of  her 
enemies ! ” Ill-fated  people ! Nations  will  weep  over  your 
wrongs  ; whilst  the  burning  blush  of  shame,  that  their  fathers 
witnessed  such  wrongs  unmoved,  shall  cause  the  tears  to  blister 
as  they  fall. 

During  these  transactions,  the  Countess  Sobieski  continued 
in  solitude  at  Villanow,  awaiting  with  awful  anxiety  the  termina- 
tion of  those  portentous  events  which  so  deeply  involved  her 
own  comforts  with  those  of  her  country.  Her  father  was  in 
prison,  her  son  at  a distance  with  the  army.  Sick  at  heart,  she 
saw  the  opening  of  that  spring  which  might  be  the  commence- 
ment only  of  a new  season  of  injuries,  j and  her  fears  were  pro- 
phetic. 

It  being  discovered  that  some  Masovian  regiments  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Warsaw  yet  retained  their  arms,  they  were 
ordered  by  the  foreign  envoys  to  lay  them  down.  A few, 
thinking  denial  vain,  obeyed ; but  bolder  spirits  followed 


78  THADDEC/S  OF  WARSAm 

Thaddeus  Sobieski  towards  South  Prussia,  whither  he  had 
directed  his  steps  on  the  arrest  of  his  grandfather,  and  where 
he  had  gathered  and  kept  together  a handful  of  brave  men, 
still  faithful  to  their  liberties.  His  name  alone  collected  num- 
bers in  every  district  through  which  he  marched.  Persecution 
from  their  adversary  as  well  as  admiration  of  Thaddeus  had 
given  a resistless  power  to  his  appearance,  look,  and  voice,  all 
of  which  had  such  an  effect  on  the  peasantry,  that  they  eagerly 
crowded  to  his  standard,  whilst  their  young  lords  committed 
themselves  without  reserve  to  his  sole  judgment  and  command. 
The  Prussian  ambassador,  hearing  of  this,  sent  to  Stanislaus 
to  command  the  grandson  of  Sobieski  to  disband  his  troops. 
The  king  refusing,  and  his  answer  being  communicated  to  the 
Russian  envoy  also,  war  was  renewed  with  redoubled  fury. 

The  palatine  remained  in  confinement,  hopeless  of  obtaining 
release  without  the  aid  of  stratagem.  His  country’s  enemies 
were  too  well  aware  of  their  interest  to  give  freedom  to  so 
active  an  opponent.  They  sought  to  vex  his  spirit  with  every 
mental  torture  ; but  he  rather  received  consolation  than  despair 
in  the  reports  daily  brought  to  him  by  his  jailers.  They  told 
him  “ that  his  grandson  continued  to  carry  himself  with  such 
insolent  opposition  in  the  south,  it  would  be  well  if  the  empress, 
at  the  termination  of  the  war,  allowed  him  to  escape  with  ban- 
ishment to  Siberia.”  But  every  reproach  thus  levelled  at  the 
palatine  he  found  had  been  bought  by  some  new  success  of 
'Phaddeus ; and  instead  of  permitting  their  malignity  to  intim- 
idate his  age  or  alarm  his  affection,  he  told  the  officer  (who 
kept  guard  in  his  chambers)  that  if  his  grandson  were  to  lose 
his  head  for  fidelity  to  Poland,  he  should  behold  him  with  as 
proud  an  eye  mounting  the  scaffold  as  entering  the  streets  of 
Warsaw  with  her  freedom  in  his  hand.  ‘‘The  only  difference 
would  be,”  continued  Sobieski,  “ that  as  the  first  cannot 
happen  until  all  virtue  be  dead  in  this  land,  I should  regard 
his  last  gasp  as  the  expiring  sigh  of  that  virtue  which,  by  him, 
had  found  a triumph  even  under  the  axe.  But  for  the  second, 
it  would  be  joy  unutterable  to  behold  the  victory  of  justice  over 
rapine  and  violence ! But,  either  way,  Thaddeus  Sobieski  is 
still  the  same — ready  to  die  or  ready  to  live  for  his  country, 
and  equally  worthy  of  the  sacred  halo  with  which  posterity 
would  encircle  his  name  forever.” 

Indeed,  the  accounts  which  arrived  from  this  young  soldier, 
who  had  formed  a junction  with  General  Kosciusko,  were  in 
the  highest  degree  formidable  to  the  coalesced  powers.  Having 
gained  several  advantages  over  the  Prussians,  the  two  victorious 


TflADD^US  OF  WARSAW. 


79 


battalions  were  advancing  towards  Inowlotz,  when  a large  and 
fresh  body  of  the  enemy  appeared  suddenly  on  their  rear.  The 
enemy  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river,  (whom  the  Poles  were 
driving  before  them,)  at  sight  of  this  reinforcement,  rallied ; 
and  not  only  to  retard  the  approach  of  the  pursuers,  but  to 
ensure  their  defeat  from  the  army  in  view,  they  broke  down  the 
wooden  bridge  by  which  they  had  escaped  themselves.  The 
Poles  were  at  a stand.  Kosciusko  proposed  swimming  across, 
but  owing  to  the  recent  heavy  rains,  the  river  was  so  swollen 
and  rapid  that  the  young  captains  to  whom  he  mentioned  the 
project,  terrified  by  the  blackness  and  dashing  of  the  water, 
drew  back.  The  general,  perceiving  their  panic,  called  Thad- 
deus  to  him,  and  both  plunged  into  the  stream.  Ashamed  of 
hesitation,  the  others  now  tried  who  could  first  follow  their 
example  ; and,  after  hard  buffeting  with  its  tide,  the  whole 
army  gained  the  opposite  shore.  The  Prussians  who  were  in 
the  rear,  incapable  of  the  like  intrepidity,  halted ; and  those 
who  had  crossed  on  their  former  defeat,  now  again  intimidated 
at  the  daring  courage  of  their  adversaries,  concealed  themselves 
amidst  the  thickets  of  an  adjoining  valley. 

The  two  friends  proceeded  towards  Cracow,*  carrying  re- 
dress and  protection  to  the  provinces  through  which  they 
marched.  But  they  had  hardly  rested  a day  in  that  city  before 
dispatches  were  received  that  Warsaw  was  lying  at  the  mercy 
of  General  Brinicki.  No  time  could  be  lost ; officers  and  men 
had  set  their  lives  on  the  cause,  and  they  recommenced  their 
toil  of  a new  march  with  a perseverance  which  brought  them 
before  the  capital  on  the  i6th  of  April. 

Things  were  in  a worse  state  than  even  was  expected.  I’he 
three  ambassadors  had  not  only  demanded  the  surrender  of  the 
national  arsenal,  but  subscribed  their  orders  with  a threat  that 
whoever  of  the  nobles  presumed  to  dispute  their  authority 
should  be  arrested  and  closely  imprisoned  there’;  and  if  the 
people  should  dare  to  murmur,  they  would  immediately  order 
General  Brinicki  to  lay  the  city  in  ashes. 

The  king  remonstrated  against  such  oppression,  and  to 
“ punish  his  presumption,^’  his  excellency  ordered  that  his 
majesty’s  garrison  and  guards  should  instantly  be  broken  up 
and  dispersed.  At  the  first  attempt  to  execute  this  mandate, 
the  people  flew  in  crowds  to  the  palace,  and,  falling  on  their 
knees,  implored  Stanislaus  for  permission  to  avenge  the  insult 

* Cracow  is  considered  the  oldest  regal  city  in  Poland  ; the  tombs  of  her  earliest  and 
noblest  kings  are  there,  John  Sobieski’s  being  one  of  the  most  renowned.  It  stands  in  a 
province  of  the  same  name,  about  130  miles  south-west  of  Warsaw,  the  more  modern 
capital  ul  the  kingdom,  and  also  the  centre  of  its  own  province. 


So 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW' 


offered  to  his  troops.  The  king  looked  at  them  with  pity, 
gratitude,  and  anguish.  For  some  time  his  emotions  were  too 
strong  to  allow  him  to  speak  ; at  last,  in  a voice  of  agony, 
wrung  from  his  tortured  heart,  he  answered,  Go,  and  defend 
your  honor ! ” 

The  army  of  .Kosciusko  marched  into  the  town  at  this  critical 
moment  ; they  joined  the  armed  people ; and  that  day,  after  a 
dreadful  conflict,  Warsaw  was  rescued  from  the  immediate 
grasp  of  the  hovering  Black  Eagle.  During  the  fight,  the  king, 
who  was  alone  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  his  palace,  sunk  in  de- 
spair on  the  floor ; he  heard  the  mingling  clash  of  arms,  the 
roar  of  musketry,  and  the  cries  and  groans  of  the  combatants ; 
ruin  seemed  no  longer  to  threaten  his  kingdom,  but  to  have 
pounced  at  once  upon  her  prey.  At  every  renewed  volley 
which  followed  each  pause  in  the  firing,  he  expected  to  see  his 
palace  gates  burst  open,  and  himself,  then  indeed  made  a will- 
ing sacrifice,  immolated  to  the  vengeance  of  his  enemies. 

While  he  was  yet  upon  his  knees  petitioning  the  God  of 
battles  for  a little  longer  respite  from  that  doom  which  was  to 
overwhelm  devoted  Poland,  Thaddeus  Sobieski,  panting  with 
heat  and  toil,  flew  into  the  room,  and  before  he  could  speak  a 
word,  was  clasped  in  the  arms  of  the  agitated  Stanislaus. 

“ What  of  my  people  } ” asked  the  king. 

“ They  are  victorious  1 ” returned  Thaddeus.  “ The  foreign 
guards  are  beaten  from  the  palace  ; your  own  have  resumed  their 
station  at  the  gates.” 

At  this  assurance,  tears  of  joy  ran  over  the  venerable  cheeks 
of  his  majesty,  and  again  embracing  his  young  deliverer,  he  ex- 
claimed, “ I thank  Heaven,  my  unhappy  country  is  not  bereft 
of  all  hope!  Whilst  a Kosciusko  and  a Sobieski  live,  she 
need  not  quite  despair.  They  are  thy  ministers,  O Jehovah, 
©f  a yet  longer  respite  1 ” 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

BATTLE  OF  BRZESC — THE  TENTH  OF  OCTOBER. 

Thaddeus  was  not  less  eager  to  release  his  grandfather 
than  he  had  been  to  relieve  the  anxiety  of  his  sovereign.  He 
hastened,  at  the  head  of  a few  troops,  to  the  prison  of  Sobieski, 
and  gave  him  liberty,  amidst  the  acclamations  of  his  soldiers. 


THAD  DELIS  OF  WARS  A IV. 


8i 


The  universal  joy  at  these  prosperous  events  did  not  last 
many  days  : it  was  speedily  terminated  by  information  that 
Cracow  had  surrendered  to  a Prussian  force,  that  the  King  of 
Prussia  was  advancing  towards  the  capital,  and  that  the  Rus- 
sians, more  implacable  in  consequence  of  the  late  treatment 
their  garrison  had  received  at  Warsaw,  were  pouring  into  the 
country  like  a deluge. 

At  this  intelligence  the  consternation  became  dreadful. 
The  Polonese  army  in  general,  worn  with  fatigue  and  long  ser- 
vice, and  without  clothing  or  ammunition,  were  not  in  any  way, 
excepting  courage,  fitted  for  resuming  the  field. 

The  treasury  was  exhausted,  and  means  of  raising  a supply 
seemed  impracticable.  The  provinces  were  laid  waste,  and  the 
city  had  already  been  drained  of  its  last  ducat.  In  this  exi- 
gency a council  met  in  his  majesty’s  cabinet,  to  devise  some  ex- 
pedient for  obtaining  resources.  The  consultation  was  as  de- 
sponding as  their  situation,  until  Thaddeus  Sobieski,  who  had 
been  a silent  observer,  rose  from  his  seat.  Sudden  indisposi- 
tion had  prevented  the  palatine  attending,  but  his  grandson 
knew  well  how  to  be  his  substitute.  Whilst  blushes  of  awe  and 
eagerness  crimsoned  his  cheek,  he  advanced  towards  Stanislaus, 
and  taking  from  his  neck  and  other  parts  of  his  dress  those 
magnificent  jewels  it  was  customary  to  wear  in  the  presence  of 
the  king,  he  knelt  down,  and  laying  them  at  the  feet  of  his 
majesty,  said,  in  a suppressed  voice,  “ These  are  trifles ; but 
such  as  they  are,  and  all  of  the  like  kind  which  we  possess,  I 
am  commanded  by  my  grandfather  to  beseech  your  majesty  to 
' appropriate  to  the  public  service.” 

I “ Noble  young  man  I ” cried  the  king,  raising  him  from  the 
1 ground  ; “you  have  indeed  taught  me  a lesson.  I accept 
I these  jewels  with  gratitude.  Here,”  said  he,  turning  to  the 
I treasurer,  “ put  them  into  the  national  fund,  and  let  them  be 
! followed  by  my  own,  with  my  gold  and  silver  plate,  which  latter 
' I desire  may  be  instantly  sent  to  the  mint.  Three  parts  the 
! army  shall  have  ; the  other  we  must  expend  in  giving  support 
; to  the  surviving  families  of  the  brave  men  who  have  fallen  in 
I our  defence.”  The  palatine  readily  united  with  his  grandson  in 
; the  surrender  of  all  their  personal  property  for  the  benefit  of 
; fheir  country  ; and,  according  to  their  example,  the  treasury 
j was  soon  filled  with  gratuities  from  the  nobles.  The  very  arti- 
; sans  offered  their  services  gratis  ; and  all  hands  being  employed 
! to  forward  the  preparations,  the  army  was  soon  enabled  to  take 
I the  field,  newly  equipped  and  in  high  spirits. 

The  countess  had  again  to  bid  adieu  to  a son  who  was  now 


82 


THADDEUS  OF  IVARSAW. 


become  as  much  the  object  of  her  admiration  as  of  her  love. 
In  proportion  as  glory  surrounded  him  and  danger  courted  his 
steps,  the  strings  of  affection  drew  him  closer  to  her  soul; 
the  “ aspiring  blood  ’’  of  the  Sobieskis  which  beat  in  her  veins 
could  not  cheer  the  dread  of  a mother,  could  not  cause  her  to 
forget  that  the  spring  of  her  existence  now  flowed  from  the 
fountain  which  had  taken  its  source  from  her.  Her  anxious 
and  watching  heart  paid  dearly  in  tears  and  sleepless  nights 
for  the  honor  with  which  she  was  saluted  at  every  turning  as 
the  mother  of  Thaddeus  : that  Thaddeus  who  was  not  more 
the  spirit  of  enterprise,  and  the  rallying  point  of  resistance, 
than  he  was  to  her  the  gentlest,  the  dearest,  the  most  amiable 
of  sons.  It  matters  not  to  the  undistinguishing  bolt  of  carnage 
whether  it  strike  common  breasts  or  those  rare  hearts  whose 
lives  are  usually  as  brief  as  they  are  dazzling ; this  leaden 
messenger  of  death  banquets  as  greedily  on  the  bosom  of  a 
hero  as  if  it  had  lit  upon  more  vulgar  prey  ; all  is  levelled  to 
the  seeming  chance  of  war,  which  comes  like  a whirlwind  of 
the  desert,  scattering  man  and  beast  in  one  wide  ruin. 

Such  thoughts  as  these  possessed  the  melancholy  but  prayer- 
ful reveries  of  the  Countess  Sobieski,  from  the  hour  in  which 
she  saw  Thaddeus  and  his  grandfather  depart  for  Cracow  until 
she  heard  it  was  retaken,  and  that  the  enemy  were  defeated  in 
several  subsequent  contests. 

Warsaw  was  again  bombarded,  and  again  Kosciusko,  with 
the  palatine  and  Thaddeus,  preserved  it  froni  destruction.  In 
short,  wherever  they  moved,  their  dauntless  little  army  carried 
terror  to  its  adversaries,  and  diffused  hope  through  the  homes 
and  hearts  of  their  countrymen. 

They  next  turned  their  course  to  the  relief  of  Lithuania ; 
but  whilst  they  were  on  their  route  thither,  they  received  intelli- 
gence that  a division  of  the  Poles,  led  by  Prince  Poniatowski, 
having  been  routed  by  a formidable  body  of  Russians  under 
Suwarrow,  that  general,  elated  with  his  success,  was  hastening 
forward  to  re-attack  the  capital. 

Kosciusko  resolved  to  prevent  him,  prepared  to  give  imme- 
diate battle  to  Ferfen,  another  Russian  commander,  who  was 
on  his  march  to  form  a junction  with  his  victorious  country- 
men. To  this  end  Kosciusko  divided  his  forces ; half  of  them 
to  not  only  support  the  retreat  of  the  prince,  but  to  enable  him 
to  hover  near  Suwarrow,  and  to  keep  a watchful  eye  over  his 
motions  ; whilst  Kosciusko,  accompanied  by  the  two  Sobieskis, 
would  proceed  with  the  other  division  towards  Brzesc. 

It  was  the  tenth  of  October.  The  weather  being  fine,  a 


THADDEUS  of  W'ARSAW 


S3 

cloudless  sun  diffused  life  and  brilliancy  through  the  pure  air 
of  a keen  morning.  The  vast  green  plain  before  them  glittered 
with  the  troops  of  General  Ferfen,  who  had  already  arranged 
them  in  order  of  battle. 

The  word  was  given.  Thaddeus,  as  he  drew  his  sabre* 
from  its  scabbard,  raised  his  eyes  to  implore  the  justice  of 
Heaven  on  that  day’s  events.  The  attack  was  made.  The 
Poles  kept  their  station  on  the  heights.  The  Russians  rushed 
on  them  like  wolves,  and  twice  they  repulsed  them  by  their 
steadiness.  Conquest  declared  for  Poland.  Thaddeus  was 
seen  in  every  part  of  the  field.  But  reinforcements  poured  in 
to  the  support  of  Ferfen,  and  war  raged  in  new  horrors.  Still 
the  courage  of  the  Poles  was  unabated.  Sobieski,  fighting  at 
the  head  of  his  cavalry,  would  not  recede  a foot,  and  Kosciusko, 
exhorting  his  men  to  be  resolute,  appeared  in  the  hottest  places 
of  the  battle. 

At  one  of  these  portentous  moments,  the  commander-in- 
chief was  seen  struggling  with  the  third  charger  which  had  been 
shot  under  him  that  day.  Thaddeus  galloped  to  his  assistance, 
gave  him  his  horse,  mounted  another  offered  by  a hussar,  and 
remained  fighting  by  his  side,  till,  on  the  next  charge,  Kosci- 
usko himself  fell  forward.  Thaddeus  caught  him  in  his  arms, 
and  finding  that  his  own  breast  was  immediately  covered  with 
blood,  (a  Cossack  having  stabbed  the  general  through  the 
shoulder,)  he  unconsciously  uttered  a cry  of  horror.  The  sur- 
rounding soldiers  took  the  alarm,  and  “ Kosciusko,  our  father, 
is  killed  ! ” was  echoed  from  rank  to  rank  with  such  piercing 
shrieks,  that  the  wounded  hero  started  from  the  breast  of  his 
young  friend  just  as  two  Russian  chasseurs  in  the  same  moment 
made  a cut  at  them  both.  The  sabre  struck  the  exposed  head 
of  Kosciusko,  who  sunk  senseless  to  the  ground,  and  Thaddeus 
received  a gash  near  his  neck  that  laid  him  by  his  side. 

, The  consternation  became  universal  ; groans  of  despair 
: seemed  to  issue  from  the  whole  army,  whilst  the  few  resolute 
Poles  who  had  been  stationed  near  the  fallen  general  fell  in 
mangled  heaps  upon  his  breast.  Thaddeus  with  difficulty  ex- 
tricated himself  from  the  bodies  of  the  slain  ; and,  fighting  his 
way  through  the  triumphant  troops  which  pressed  around  him, 

: amidst  the  smoke  and  confusion  soon  joined  his  terror-stricken 
1 comrades,  who  in  the  wildest  despair  were  dispersing  under  a 

'y  * The  sabre  (like  the  once  famed  claymore  of  Scotland)  was  the  characteristic  weapon  of 
i Poland.  It  was  the  especial  appendage  to  the  sides  of  the  nobles  ; — its  use,  the  science  of 
tlieir  youth,  their  ornament  and  graceful  exercise  in  peace,  their  most  efficient  manual  power 
I of  attack  or  defence  in  war.  It  is  impossible  for  any  but  an  eye-witness  to  have  any  idea 
of  the  skill,  beauty,  and  determination  with  which  this  weapon  was,  and  is,  wielded  m Po- 
land. 


84 


THADDEUS  OF  IVARSAIV. 


heavy  fire,  and  flying  like  frighted  deer.  In  vain  he  called  to 
them — in  vain  he  urged  them  to  avenge  Kosciusko  ; the  panic 
was  complete,  and  they  fled. 

Almost  alone,  in  the  rear  of  his  soldiers-,  he  opposed  with  his 
single  and  desperate  arm  party  after  party  of  the  enemy,  until 
a narrow  stream  of  the  Muchavez  stopped  his  retreat.  The 
waters  were  crimsoned  with  blood.  He  plunged  in,  and  beat- 
ing the  blushing  wave  with  his  left  arm,  in  a few  seconds  gained 
the  opposite  bank,  where,  fainting  from  fatigue  and  loss  of 
blood,  he  sunk,  almost  deprived  of  sense,  amidst  a heap  of 
the  killed. 

When  the  pursuing  squadrons  had  galloped  past  him,  he 
again  summoned  strength  to  look  round.  He  raised  himself 
^rom  the  ground,  and  by  the  help  of  his  sabre  supported  his 
steps  a few  paces  further ; but  what  was  the  shock  he  received 
when  the  bleeding  and  lifeless  body  of  his  grandfather  lay  before 
him  ? He  stood  for  a few  moments  motionless  and  without  sen- 
sation ; then,  kneeling  down  by  his  side,  whilst  he  felt  as  if  his 
own  heart  were  palsied  with  death,  he  searched  for  the  wounds 
of  the  palatine.  They  were  numerous  and  deep.  He  would 
have  torn  away  the  handkerchief  with  which  he  had  stanched 
his  own  blood  to  have  applied  it  to  that  of  his  grandfather  ; but 
in  the  instant  he  was  so  doing,  feeling  the  act  might  the  next  , 
moment  disable  himself  from  giving  him  further  assistance,  he 
took  his  sash  and  neck-cloth,  and  when  they  were  insufficient, 
he  rent  the  linen  from  his  breast ; then  hastening  to  the  river, 
he  brought  a little  water  in  his  cap,  and  threw  some  of  its  stained 
drops  on  the  pale  features  of  Sobieski. 

The  venerable  hero  opened  his  eyes  ; in  a minute  afterwards 
he  recognized  that  it  was  his  grandson  who  knelt  by  him.  The 
palatine  pressed  his  hand,  which  was  cold  as  ice  : the  marble 
lips  of  Thaddeus  could  not  move. 

My  son,’’  said  the  veteran,  in  a low  voice,  “ Heaven  hath 
led  you  hither  to  receive  the  last  sigh  of  your  grandfather.” 
Thaddeus  trembled.  The  palatine  continued  : ‘‘  Carry  my  bless- 
ing to  your  mother,  and  bid  her  seek  comfort  in  the  consolations 
of  her  God.  May  that  God  preserve  you  ! Ever  remember  that 
you  are  his  servant ; be  obedient  to  him  ; and  as  I have  been,  j 
be  faithful  to  your  country.” 

May  God  so  bless  me  ! ” cried  Thaddeus,  looking  up  to 
heaven. 

‘‘  And  ever  remember,”  said  the  palatine,  raising  his  head, 
which  had  dropped  on  the  bosom  of  his  grandson,  “ that  you 
are  a Sobieski  ! it  is  my  dying  command  that  you  never  take 
any  other  name.” 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


I promise.” 

Thatldeus  could  say  r o more,  for  the  countenance  of  his 
grandfather  became  altered  ; his  eyes  closed.  Thaddeus  caught 
him  to  his  breast.  No  heart  beat  against  his  j all  was  still  and 
cold.  The  body  dropped  from  his  arms,  and  he  sunk  senseless 
by  its  side. 

When  consciousness  returned  to  him,  he  looked  up.  The 
sky  was  shrouded  in  clouds,  which  a driving  wind  was  blowing 
from  the  orb  of  the  moon,  while  a few  of  her  white  rays  gleamed 
sepulchrally  on  the  weapons  of  the  slaughtered  soldiers. 

The  scattered  senses  of  Thaddeus  gradually  returned  to  him. 
He  was  now  lying,  the  only  living  creature  amidst  thousands 
of  the  dead  who,  the  preceding  night,  had  been,  like  himself, 
alive  to  all  the  consciousness  of  existence ! His  right  hand 
rested  on  the  pale  face  of  his  grandfather.  It  was  wet  with 
dew.  He  shuddered.  Taking  his  own  cloak  from  his  shoulders, 
he  laid  it  over  the  body.  He  would  have  said,  as  he  did  it, 
“ So,  my  father,  I would  have  sheltered  thy  life  with  my  own  ! ” 
but  the  words  choked  in  his  throat,  and  he  sat  watching  by  the 
corpse  until  the  day  dawned,  and  the  Poles  returned  to  bury 
their  slain. 

The  wretched  Thaddeus  was  discovered  by  a party  of  his  own 
hussars  seated  on  a little  mound  of  earth,  with  the  cold  hand 
of  Sobieski  grasped  in  his.  At  this  sight  the  soldiers  uttered  a 
cr}^  of  dismay  and  sorrow.  Thaddeus  rose  up.  “ My  friends,” 
said  he,  I thank  God  that  you  are  come  ! Assist  me  to  bear 
my  dear  grandfather  to  the  camp.” 

Astonished  at  this  composure,  but  distressed  at  the  dread- 
ful hue  of  his  countenance,  they  obeyed  him  in  mournful  silence, 
and  laid  the  remains  of  the  palatine  upon  a bier,  which  they 
formed  with  their  sheathed  sabres ; then  gently  raising  it,  they 
retrod  their  steps  to  the  camp,  leaving  a detachment  to  accom- 
plish the  duty  for  which  they  had  quitted  it.  Thaddeus,  hardly 
able  to  support  his  weakened  frame,  mounted  a horse  and  fol- 
lowed the  melancholy  procession. 

General  Wawrzecki,  on  whom  the  command  had  devolved, 
seeing  the  party  returning  so  soon,  and  in  such  an  order,  sent 
an  aid-de-camp  to  inquire  the  reason.  He  came  back  with  de- 
jection in  his  face,  and  informed  his  commander  that  the  brave 
Palatine  of  Masovia,  whom  they  supposed  had  been  taken  pris- 
oner with  his  grandson  and  Kosciusko,  was  the  occasion  of 
this  sudden  return  ; that  he  had  been  killed,  and  his  body  was 
’now  approaching  the  lines  on  the  arms  of  the  soldiers.  Wawr- 
, zecki,  though  glad  to  hear  that  Thaddeus  was  alive  and  at 


86 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


liberty,  turned  to  conceal  his  tears  ; then  calling  out  a guard, 
he  marched  at  their  head  to  meet  the  corpse  of  his  illustrious 
friend. 

The  bier  was  carried  into  the  general’s  tent.  An  aid-de-camp 
and  some  gentlemen  of  the  faculty  were  ordered  to  attend 
Thaddeus  to  his  quarters  ; but  the  young  count,  though  scarcely 
able  to  stand,  appeared  to  linger,  and  holding  fast  by  the  arm 
of  an  officer,  he  looked  steadfastly  on  the  body.  Wawrzecki 
understood  his  hesitation.  He  pressed  his  hand.  Fear  not, 
my  dear  sir,”  said  he  ; “every  honor  shall  be  paid  to  the  re- 
mains of  your  noble  grandfather.”  Thaddeus  bowed  his  head, 
and  was  supported  out  of  the  tent  to  his  own. 

His  wounds,  of  which  he  had  received  several,  were  not 
deep  ; and  might  have  been  of  little  consequence,  had  not  his 
thoughts  continually  hovered  about  his  mother,  and  painted 
her  affliction  when  she  should  be  informed  of  the  lamentable 
events  of  the  last  day’s  battle.  These  reflections,  awake  or  in 
a slumber,  (for  he  never  slept,)  possessed  his  mind,  and,  even 
whilst  his  wounds  were  healing,  produced  such  an  irritation  in 
his  blood  as  hourly  threatened  a fever. 

Things  were  in  this  situation,  when  the  surgeon  put  a letter 
from  the  countess  into  his  hand.  He  opened  it.  and  read  with 
breathless  anxietv  these  lines  : 


“To  Thaddeus,  Count  Sobieski. 

“ Console  yourself,  my  most  precious  son,  console  yourself 
for  my  sake.  I have  seen  Colonel  Lonza,  and  I have  heard  all 
the  horrors  which  took  place  on  the  tenth  of  this  month.  I 
have  heard  them,  and  I am  yet  alive.  I am  resigned.  He  tells 
me  you  are  wounded.  Oh  ! do  not  let  me  be  bereft  of  my  son 
also  ! Remember  that  you  were  my  dear  sainted  father’s  dar- 
ling j remember  that,  as  his  representative,  you  are  to  be  my 
consolation ; in  pity  to  me,  if  not  to  our  suffering  country,  pre- 
serve yourself  to  be  at  least  the  last  comfort  Heaven’s  mercy 
hath  spared  to  me.  I find  that  all  is  lost  to  Poland  as  well  as 
to  myself  ! that  when  my  glorious  father  fell,  and  his  frienrl 
with  him,  even  its  name,  as  a country,  became  extinct.  The 
allied  invaders  are  in  full  march  towards  Masovia,  and  1 am  too 
weak  to  come  to  you.  Let  me  see  you  soon,  very  soon,  my  be- 
loved son.  I beseech  you  to  come  to  me.  You  will  find  me 
feebler  in  body  than  in  mind ; for  there  is  a holy  Comforter 
that  descends  on  the  bruised  heart,  which  none  other  than  the 
unhappy  have  conceived  or  felt.  Farewell,  my  dear,  dear  Thad- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


S7 

deus  ! Let  the  memory  that  you  have  a mother  check  your  too 
ardent  courage.  God  forever  guard  you  ! Live  foryour  mother, 
who  has  no  stronger  words  to  express  her  affection  for  you  than 
she  is  thy  mother — thy 

Therese  Sobieski. 

“ ViLLANOW,  October y 1794.” 

This  letter  was  indeed  a balm  to  the  soul  of  Thaddeus. 
That  his  mother  had  received  intelligence  of  the  cruel  event 
with  such  “holy  resignation’’  was  the  best  medicine  that  could 
now  be  applied  to  his  wounds,  both  of  mind  and  body  ; and 
when  he  was  told  that  on  the  succeeding  morning  the  body  of 
his  grandfather  would  be  removed  to  the  convent  near  Biala, 
he  declared  his  resolution  to  attend  it  to  the  grave. 

In  vain  his  surgeons  and  General  Wawrzecki  remonstrated 
against  the  danger  of  this  project ; for  once  the  gentle  and 
yielding  spirit  of  Thaddeus  was  inflexible.  He  had  fixed  his 
determination,  and  it  was  not  to  be  shaken. 

Next  day,  being  the  seventh  from  that  in  which  the  fatal 
battle  had  been  decided,  Thaddeus,  at  the  first  beat  of  the  drum, 
rose  from  his  pallet,  and,  almost  unassisted,  put  on  his  clothes. 
His  uniform  being  black,  he  needed  no  other  index  than  his 
pale  and  mournful  countenance  to  announce  that  he  was  chief 
mourner. 

The  procession  began  to  form,  and  he  walked  from  his  tent. 
It  was  a fine  morning.  Thaddeus  looked  up,  as  if  to  upbraid 
the  sun  for  shining  so  brightly.  Lengthened  and  repeated 
rounds  of  cannon  rolled  along  the  air.  The  solemn  march  of 
the  dead  was  moaning  from  the  muffled  drum,  interrupted  at 
measured  pauses  by  the  shrill  tremor  of  the  fife.  The  troops, 
preceded  by  their  general,  moved  forward  with  a decent  and 
melancholy  step.  The  Bishop  of  Warsaw  followed,  bearing  the 
sacred  volume  in  his  hands  ; and  next,  borne  upon  the  crossed 
pikes  of  his  soldiers,  and  supported  by  twelve  of  his  veteran 
companions,  appeared  the  body  of  the  brave  Sobieski.  A vel- 
vet pall  covered  it,  on  which  were  laid  those  arms  with  wliich 
for  fifty  years  he  had  asserted  the  loyal  independence  of  his 
country.  At  this  sight  the  sobs  of  the  men  became  audible. 
Thaddeus  followed  with  a slow  but  firm  step,  his  eyes  bent  to 
the  ground  and  his  arms  wrapped  in  his  cloak  ; it  was  the  same 
which  had  shaded  his  beloved  grandfather  from  the  dews  of 
that  dreadful  night.  Another  train  of  solemn  music  succeed- 
ed ; and  then  the  squadrons  which  the  deceased  had  commanded 
dismounted,  and,  leading  their  horses,  closed  the  procession. 


8S 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


On  the  verge  of  the  plain  that  borders  Biala,  and  within  a 
lew  paces  of  the  convent  gate  of  St.  Francis,  the  bier  stopped. 
The  monks  saluted  its  appearance  with  a requiem,  which  they 
continued  to  chant  till  the  coffin  was  lowered  into  the  gtound. 
The  earth  received  its  sacred  deposit.  The  anthems  ceased  ; 
the  soldiers,  kneeling  down,  discharged  their  muskets  over  it ; 
then,  with  streaming  cheeks,  rose  and  gave  place  to  others. 
Nine  volleys  were  fired,  and  the  ranks  fell  back.  The  bishop 
advanced  to  the  head  of  the  grave.  All  was  hushed.  He  raised 
his  eyes  to  heaven  ; then,  after  a pause,  in  which  he  seemed  to 
be  communing  with  the  regions  above  him,  he  turned  to  tlie 
silent  assembly,  and,  in  a voice  collected  and  impressive,  ad- 
dressed them  in  a short  but  affecting  oration,  in  which  he  set 
forth  the  brightness  of  Sobieski’s  life,  his  noble  forgetfulness  of 
self  in  the  interests  of  his  country,  and  the  dauntless  bravery 
which  laid  him  in  the  dust.  A general  discharge  of  cannon  was 
the  awful  response  to  this  appeal.  Wawrzecki  took  the  sabre  of 
the  palatine,  and,  breaking  it,  dropped  it  into  the  grave.  1 he 
aids-de-camp  of  the  deceased  did  the  same  with  theirs,  showing 
that  by  so  doing  they  resigned  their  offices  ; and  then,  covering 
their  faces  with  their  handkerchiefs,  they  turned  away  with  the 
soldiers,  who  filed  off.  Thaddeus  sunk  on  his  knees.  His 
hands  were  clasped,  and  his  eyes  for  a few  minutes  fixed  them- 
selves on  the  coffin  of  his  grandfather ; then  rising,  he  leaned  on 
the  arm  of  Wawrzecki,  and  with  a tottering  step  and  pallid 
countenance,  mounted  his  horse,  which  had  been  led  to  the 
spot,  and  returned  with  the  scattered  procession  to  the  camp. 

The  cause  for  exertion  being  over,  his  spirits  fell  with  the 
rapidity  of  a spring  too  highly  wound  up,  which  snaps  and  runs 
down  to  immobility.  He  entered  his  tent  and  threw  himself  on 
the  bed,  from  which  he  did  not  raise  for  the  five  following  days. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  VILLANOW. 

At  a time  when  the  effects  of  these  sufferings  and  fatigues 
bad  brought  his  bodily  strength  to  its  lowest  ebb,  the  young 
Count  Sobieski  was  roused  by  information  that  the  Russians 
had  planted  themselves  before  Praga,  and  were  preparing  to 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


89 

: uombard  the  town.  The  intelligence  nerved  his  heart’s  sinews 
again,  and  rallied  the  spirits,  also,  of  his  depressed  soldiers,  who 
energetically  obeyed  their  commander  to  put  themselves  in 
readiness  to  march  at  set  of  sun. 

Thaddeus  saw  that  the  decisive  hour  was  pending.  And  as 
the  moon  rose,  though  hardly  able  to  sit  his  noble  charger,  he 
refused  the  indulgence  of  a litter,  determining  that  no  illness, 
while  he  had  any  power  to  master  its  disabilities,  should  make 
him  recede  from  his  duty.  The  image  of  his  mother,  too,  so 
near  the  threatened  spot,  rushed  on  his  soul.  In  quick  march 
he  led  on  his  troops.  Devastation  met  them  over  the  face  of  the 
country.  Scared  and  houseless  villagers  were  flying  in  every 
direction  ; old  men  stood  amongst  the  ashes  of  their  homes, 
wailing  to  the  pitying  heavens,  since  man  had  none.  Children 
and  woman  sat  by  the  waysides,  weeping  over  the  last  sustenance 
the  wretched  infants  drew  from  the  breasts  of  their  perishing 
mothers. 

Thaddeus  shut  his  eyes  on  the  scene. 

Oh,  my  country  ! my  country  ! ” exclaimed  he  ; “ what  are 
my  personal  griefs  to  thine  ? It  is  your  afflictions  that  barb  me 
to  the  heart ! Look  there,”  cried  he  to  the  soldiers,  pointing  to 
the  miserable  spectacles  before  him  ; “ look  there,  and  carry 
vengeance  into  the  breasts  of  their  destroyers.  Let  Praga  be 
the  last  act  of  this  tragedy.” 

Unhappy  young  man  ! unfortunate  country  ! It  was  indeed 
the  last  act  of  a tragedy  to  which  all  Europe  were  spectators — 
a tragedy  which  the  nations  witnessed  without  one  attempt  to 
stop  or  to  delay  its  dreadful  catastrophe  ! Oh,  how  must  vir- 
tue be  lost  when  it  is  no  longer  a matter  of  policy  even  to 
assume  it.”  ^ 

After  a long  march  through  a dark  and  dismal  night,  the 
morning  began  to  break  ; and  Thaddeus  found  himself  on  the 
southern  side  of  that  little  river  which  divides  the  territories  of 
Sobieski  from  the  woods  of  Kobylka.  Here,  for  the  first  time, 
he  endured  all  the  torturing  varieties  of  despair. 

The  once  fertile  fields  were  burnt  to  stubble  ; the  cottages 
were  yet  smoking  from  the  ravages  of  the  fire  ; and  in  place  of 
smiling  eyes  and  thankful  lips  coming  to  meet  him,  he  beheld 
the  dead  bodies  of  his  peasants  stretched  on  the  high  roads. 


* To  answer  this,  we  must  remember  that  Europe  was  then  no  longer  what  she  was  a 
century  before.  Almost  all  her  nations  had  turned  from  the  doctrines  of  “ sound  things,” 
and  more  or  less  drank  deeply  of  the  cup  of  infidelity,  drugged  for  them  by  the  flattering  so- 
phistries of  Voltaire.  The  draught  was  inebriation,  and  the  wild  consequences  burst  asunder 
the  responsibilities  of  man  to  man.  The  selfish  principle  ruled,  and  balance  of  justice  was 
tlien  seen  only  aloft  in  the  heavens  I 


90 


THADDEUS  OF  IVARSAm 


mangled,  bleeding,  and  stripped  of  that  decent  covering  which 
humanity  would  not  deny  to  the  vilest  criminal. 

Thaddeus  could  bear  the  sight  no  longer,  but,  setting  spurs 
to  his  horse,  fled  from  the  contemplation  of  scenes  which  har- 
rowed up  his  soul. 

At  nightfall,  the  army  halted  under  the  walls  of  Villanow. 
The  count  looked  towards  the  windows  of  the  palace,  and  by  a 
light  shining  through  the  half-drawn  curtains,  distinguished  his 
mother’s  room.  He  then  turned  his  eye  on  that  sweep  of  build- 
ing which  contained  the  palatine’s  apartments  ; but  not  one 
solitary  lamp  illumined  its  gloom  . the  moon  alone  glimmered 
on  the  battlements,  silvering  the  painted  glass  of  the  study 
window,  where,  with  that  beloved  parent,  he  had  so  lately  gazed 
upon  the  stars,  and  anticipated  with  the  most  sanguine  hopes 
the  result  of  the  campaign  which  had  now  terminated  so  disas- 
trously for  his  unhappy  country. 

But  these  thoughts,  with  his  grief  and  his  forebodings,  were 
buried  in  the  depths  of  his  determined  heart.  Addressing  Gen- 
eral Wawrzecki,  he  bade  him  welcome  to  Villanow,  requesting 
at  the  same  time  that  his  men  might  be  directed  to  rest  till 
morning,  and  that  he  and  the  officers  would  take  their  refresh- 
ment within  the  palace. 

As  soon  as  Thaddeus  had  seen  his  guests  seated  at  different  i 
tables  in  the  eating-hall,  and  had  given  orders  for  the  soldiers 
to  be  served  from  the  buttery  and  cellars,  he  withdrew  to  seek 
the  countess.  He  found  her  in  her  chamber,  surrounded  by 
the  attendants  who  had  just  informed  her  of  his  arrival.  The  j 
moment  he  appeared  at  the  room  door,  the  women  went  out  at  i 
an  opposite  passage,  and  Thaddeus,  with  a bursting  heart,  threw 
himself  on  the  bosom  of  his  mother.  They  were  silent  for  some 
time.  Poignant  recollection  stopped  their  utterance  ; but  j 
neither  tears  nor  sighs  filled  its  place,  until  the  countess,  on  j 
whose  soul  the  full  tide  of  maternal  affection  pressed,  and  min-  ' 
gled  with  her  grief,  raised  her  head  from  her  son’s  neck,  and 
said,  whilst  she  strained  him  in  her  arms,  ‘‘  Receive  my  thanks, 

O Father  of  mercy,  for  having  spared  to  me  this  blessing!  ” 

Thaddeus  Sobieski  (all  that  now  remained  of  that  beloved  and 
honored  name  !)  with  a sacred  emotion  breathed  a response  to 
the  address  of  his  mother,  and  drying  her  tears  with  his  kisses, 
dwelt  upon  the  never-dying  fame  of  his  revered  grandfather,  ■ 
upon  his  preferable  lot  to  that  of  their  brave  friend  Kosciusko, 
who  was  doomed  not  only  to  survive  the  liberty  of  his  country, 
but  to  pass  the  residue  of  his  life  within  the  dungeons  of  his  en-  ‘ 
emies.  He  then  tried  to  reanimate  her  spirit:  with  hope.  He 


THABDEUS  OF  WARSA  W, 


91 


spoke  of  the  approaching  battle,  without  any  doubt  of  the  valor 
and  desperation  of  the  Poles  rendering  it  successful.  He  talked 
of  the  resolution  of  their  leader,  General  Wawrzecki,  and  of  his 
own  good  faith  in  the  justice  of  their  cause.  His  discourse 
began  in  a wish  to  cheat  her  into  tranquillity ; but  as  he  ad- 
. vanced  on  the  subject,  his  soul  took  fire  at  its  own  warmth,  and 
he  half  believed  the  probability  of  his  anticipations. 

The  countess  looked  on  the  honorable  glow  which  crimsoned 
his  harassed  features  with  a pang  at  her  heart. 

My  heroic  son  ! ’’  cried  she,  “ my  darling  Thaddeus  ! what 
a vast  price  do  I pay  for  all  this  excellence  ! I could  not  love 
you  were  you  otherwise  than  what  you  are  ; and  being  what 
you  are,  oh,  how  soon  may  I lose  you  ! Already  has  your  noble 
grandfather  paid  the  debt  which  he  owed  to  his  glory.  He 
promised  to  fall  with  Poland ; he  has  kept  his  word ; and 
now,  all  that  I love  on  earth  is  concentrated  in  you.’’  The 
countess  paused,  and  pressing  his  hand  almost  wildly  on  her 
heart,  she  continued  in  a hurried  voice,  The  same  spirit  is  in 
your  breast ; the  same  principle  binds  you ; and  I may  be  at 
last  left  alone.  Heaven  have  pity  on  me  ! ” 

She  cast  her  eyes  upward  as  she  ended.  Thaddeus,  sink- 
ing on  his  knees  by  her  side,  implored  her  with  all  the  earnest- 
ness of  piety  and  confidence  to  take  comfort.  The  countess 
embraced  him  with  a forced  smile.  ^‘You  must  forgive  me, 
Thaddeus ; I have  nothing  of  the  soldier  in  my  heart : it  is  all 
woman.  But  I will  not  detain  you  longer  from  the  rest  you  re- 
quire ; go  to  your  room,  and  try  and  recruit  yourself  for  the 
dangers  to-morrow  will  bring  forth.  I shall  employ  the  night  in 
prayers  for  your  safety.” 

Consoled  to  see  any  composure  in  his  mother,  he  withdrew, 
and  after  having  heard  that  his  numerous  guests  were  properly 
lodged,  went  to  his  own  chamber. 

Next  morning  at  sunrise  the  troops  prepared  to  march. 
General  Wawrzecki,  with  his  officers,  begged  permission  to  pay 
their  personal  graditude  to  the  countess  for  the  hospitality  of 
her  reception  j but  she  declined  the  honor,  on  the  plea  of  in- 
disposition. In  the  course  of  an  hour,  her  son  appeared  from 
her  apartment  and  joined  the  general. 

The  soldiers  filed  off  through  the  gates,  crossed  the  bridge, 
and  halted  under  the  walls  of  Praga.  The  lines  of  the  camp 
were  drawn  and  fortified  before  evening,  at  which  time  they 
found  leisure  to  observe  the  enemy’s  strength. 

Russia  seemed  to  have  exhausted  her  wide  regions  to  people 
tne  narrow  shores  of  the  Vistula  ; from  east  to  west,  as  far  as 


92 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


the  eye  could  reach,  her  arms  were  stretched  to  the  horizon 
Sobieski  looked  at  them,  and  then  on  the  handful  of  intrepid 
hearts  contained  in  the  small  circumference  of  the  Polish  camp. 
Sighing  heavily,  he  retired  into  his  tent ; and  vainly  seeking  re- 
pose, mixed  his  short  and  startled  slumbers  with  frequent  prayers 
for  the  preservation  of  these  last  victims  to  their  country. 

The  hours  appeared  to  stand  still.  Several  times  he  rose 
from  his  bed  and  went  to  the  door,  to  see  whether  the  clouds 
were  tinged  with  any  appearance  of  dawn.  All  continued  dark. 
He  again  returned  to  his  marquee,  and  standing  by  the  lamp 
which  was  nearly  exhausted,  took  out  his  watch,  and  tried  to 
distinguish  tlie  points  ; but  finding  that  the  light  burned  too 
feebly,  he  was  pressing  the  repeating  spring,  which  struck  five, 
when  the  report  of  a single  musket  made  him  start. 

He  flew  to  his  tent  door,  and  looking  around,  saw  that  all 
near  his  quarter  was  at  rest.  Suspecting  it  to  be  a signal  of 
the  enemy,  he  hurried  towards  the  intrenchments,  but  found 
the  sentinels  in  perfect  security  from  any  fears  respecting  the 
sound,  as  they  supposed  it  to  have  proceeded  from,  the  town. 

Sobieski  paid  little  attention  to , their  opinions,  but  ascend- 
ing the  nearest  bastion  to  take  a wider  survey,  in  a few  minutes 
he  discerned,  though  obscurely,  through  the  gleams  of  morning, 
what  appeared  to  be  the  whole  host  of  Russia  advancing  in 
profound  silence  towards  the  Polish  lines.  The  instant  he 
made  this  discovery,  he  came  down,  and  lost  no  time  in  giving 
orders  for  the  defence  ; then  flying  to  other  parts  of  the  camp, 
he  awakened  the  commander-in-chief,  encouraged  the  men,  and 
saw  that  the  whole  encampment  was  not  only  in  motion,  but 
prepared  for  the  assault. 

In  consequence  of  these  prompt  arrangements,  the  assail- 
ants were  received  with  a cross-fire  of  the  batteries,  and  case- 
shot  and  musketry  from  several  redoubts,  which  raked  their 
flanks  as  they  advanced.  But  in  defiance  of  this  shower  of 
bullets,  they  pressed  on  with  an  intrepidity  worthy  of  a better 
cause,  and  overleaping  the  ditch  by  squadrons,  entered  the 
camp.  A passage  once  secured,  the  Cossacks  rushed  in  by 
thousands,  and  spreading  themselves  in  front  of  the  storming 
party,  put  every  soul  to  the  spear  who  opposed  them. 

The  Polish  works  being  gained,  the  enemy  turned  the  can- 
non on  its  former  masters,  and  as  they  rallied  to  the  defence  of 
what  remained,  swept  them  down  by  whole  regiments.  The 
noise  of  artillery  thundered  from  all  sides  of  the  camp ; the 
smoke  was  so  great,  that  it  was  hardly  possible  to  distinguish 
friends  from  foes ; nevertheless,  the  spirits  of  the  Poles  flagged 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W, 


93 


not  a moment ; as  fast  as  one  rampart  was  wrested  from  them, 
they  threw  themselves  within  another,  which  was  as  speedily 
taken  by  the  help  of  hurdles,  fascines,  ladders,  and  a courage 
as  resistless  as  if  was  ferocious,  merciless,  and  sanguinary. 
Every  spot  of  vantage  position  was  at  length  lost  ; and  yet  the 
I Poles  fought  like  lions;  quarter  was  neither  offered  to  them 
nor  required  ; they  disputed  every  inch  of  ground,  until  they 
fell  upon  it  in  heaps,  some  lying  before  the  parapets,  others  fill- 
ing the  ditches  and  the  rest  covering  the  earth,  for  the  enemy 
to  tread  on  as  they  cut  their  passage  to  the  heart  of  the  camp. 

Sobieski,  almost  maddened  by  the  scene,  dripping  with  his 
own  blood  and  that  of  his  brave  friends,  was  seen  in  every  part 
of  the  action  ; he  was  in  the  fosse,  defending  the  trampled 
bodies  of  the  dying  ; he  was  on  the  dyke,  animating  the  few 
who  survived.  Wawrzecki  was  wounded,  and  every  hope  hung 
upon  Thaddeus.  His  presence  and  voice  infused  new  energy 
into  the  arms  of  his  fainting  countrymen ; they  kept  close  to 
his  side,  until  the  victors,  enraged  at  the  dauntless  intrepidity 
of  this  young  hero,  uttered  the  most  fearful  imprecations,  and 
rushing  on  his  little  phalanx,  attacked  it  with  redoubled  num- 
bers and  fury. 

Sobieski  sustained  the  shock  with  firmness  ; but  wherever 
he  turned  his  eyes,  they  were  blasted  with  some  object  which 
made  them  recoil  ; he  beheld  his  companions  and  his  soldiers 
strewing  the  earth,  and  their  triumphant  adversaries  mounting 
their  dying  bodies,  as  they  hastened  with  loud  huzzas  to  the  de- 
struction of  Praga,  whose  gates  were  now  burst  open.  His 
eyes  grew  dim  at  the  sight,  and  at  the  very  moment  in  which 
he  tore  them  from  spectacles  so  deadly  to  his  heart,  a Liv6nian 
officer  struck  him  with  a sabre,  to  all  appearance  dead  upon  the 
field. 

When  he  recovered  from  the  blow,  (which,  having  lit  on 
the  steel  of  his  cap,  had  only  stunned  him,)  he  looked  around, 
and  found  that  all  near  him  was  quiet ; but  a far  different  scene 
presented  itself  from  the  town.  The  roar  of  cannon  and  the 
bursting  of  bombs  thundered  through  the  air,  which  was  ren- 
dered livid  and  tremendous  by  long  spires  of  fire  streaming 
from  the  burning  houses,  and  mingling  with  the  volumes  of 
smoke  which  rolled  from  the  guns.  The  dreadful  tocsin,  and  the 
hurrahs  of  the  victors,  pierced  the  soul  of  Thaddeus.  Spring- 
ing from  the  ground,  he  was  preparing  to  rush  towards  the 
gates,  when  loud  cries  of  distress  issued  from  within.  They 
were  burst  open,  and  a moment  after,  the  grand  magazine  blew 
up  with  a horrible  explosion. 


94 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


In  an  instant  the  field  before  Praga  was  filled  with  women 
and  children,  flying  in  all  directions,  and  rending  the  sky  with 
their  shrieks.  “Father  Almighty!”  cried  Thaddeus,  wring- 
ing his  hands,  “ canst  thou  suffer  this  ? ” Whilst  he  yet  spake, 
some  straggling  Cossacks  near  the  town,  who  were  prowling 
about,  glutted,  but  not  sated  with  blood,  seized  the  poor  fugi- 
tives, and  with  a ferocity  as  wanton  as  unmanly,  released  them 
at  once  from  life  and  misery. 

This  hideous  spectacle  brought  his  mother’s  defenceless 
state  before  the  eyes  of  Sobieski.  Her  palace  was  only  four 
miles  distant ; and  whilst  the  barbarous  avidity  of  the  enemy 
was  too  busily  engaged  in  sacking  the  place  to  permit  them  to 
perceive  a solitary  individual  hurrying  away  amidst  heaps  ot 
dead  bodies,  he  flew  across  the  desolated  meadows  which  in- 
tervened between  Praga  and  Villanow. 

Thaddeus  was  met  at  the  gate  of  his  palace  by  General 
Butzou,  who,  having  learned  the  fate  of  Praga  from  the  noise 
and  flames  in  that  quarter,  anticipated  the  arrival  of  some  part 
of  the  victorious  army  before  the  walls  of  Villanow.  When  its 
young  count,  with  a breaking  heart,  crossed  the  drawbridge,  he 
saw  that  the  worthy  veteran  had  prepared  everything  for  a 
stout  resistance ; the  ramparts  were  lined  with  soldiers,  and 
well  mounted  with  artillery. 

“ Here,  thou  still  honored  Sobieski,”  cried  he,  as  he  con- 
ducted Thaddeus  to  the  keep ; “ let  the  worst  happen,  here  I 
am  resolved  to  dispute  the  possession  of  your  grandfather’s 
palace  until  I have  not  a man  to  stand  by  me  1 ” * 

Thaddeus  strained  him  in  silence  to  his  breast ; and  after 
examining  the  force  and  dispositions,  he  approved  all  with  a 
cold  despair  of  their  being  of  any  effectual  use,  and  went  to 
the  apartments  of  his  mother. 

The  countess’s  women,  who  met  him  in  the  vestibule, 
begged  him  to  be  careful  how  he  entered  her  excellency’s  room, 
for  she  had  only  just  recovered  from  a swoon,  occasioned  by 
alarm  at  hearing  the  cannonade  against  the  Polish  camp.  Her 
son  waited  for  no  more,  but  not  hearing  their  caution,  threw 
open  the  door  of  the  chamber,  and  hastening  to  his  mother’s 
couch,  cast  himself  into  her  arms.  She  clung  round  his  neck, 
and  for  a while  joy  stopped  her  respiration.  Bursting  into 
tears,  she  wept  over  him,  incapable  of  expressing  by  words  her 

^ It  was  little  more  than  just  a century  before  this  awful  scene  took  place  that  the  in- 
vincible John  Sobieski,  King  of  Poland,  acting  upon  the  old  mutually  protecting  principles 
of  Christendom,  saved  the  freedom  and  the  faith  of  Christian  Europe  from  the  Turkish 
yoke.  And  in  this  very  mansion  he  passed  his  latter  years  in^honored  peace.  He  died  in 
J694 — a remarkable  coincidence,  the  division  of  Poland  occurring  in  1794. 


THADDEUS  OF  IVARSAlV. 


9S 

tumtiltuous  gratitude  at  again  beholding  him  alive.  He  looked 
on  her  altered  and  pallid  features. 

O ! my  mother/’  cried  he  clasping  her  to  his  breast ; 
‘‘you  are  ill  ; and  what  will  become  of  you  ? ” 

“ My  beloved  son  ! ’’  replied  she  kissing  his  forehead 
through  the  clotted  blood  that  oozed  from  a cut  on  his  temple  ; 
“ my  beloved  son,  before  our  cruel  murderers  can  arrive,  I shall 
have  found  a refuge  in  the  bosom  of  my  God.” 

Thaddeus  could  only  answer  with  a groan.  She  resumed. 
“ Give  me  your  hand.  I must  not  witness  the  grandson  of 
Sobieski  given  up  to  despair ; let  your  mother  incite  you  to 
resignation.  You  see  I have  not  breathed  a complaining  word, 
although  I behold  you  covered  with  wounds.^  As  she  spoke, 
her  eye  pointed  to  the  sash  and  handkerchief  which  were  bound 
round  his  thigh  and  arm.  “ Our  separation  will  not  be  long  ; 
a few  short  years,  perhaps  hours,  may  unite  us  forever  in  a 
better  world.” 

The  count  was  still  speechless ; he  could  only  press  her 
hand  to  his  lips.  After  a pause,  she  proceeded — 

“ Look  up,  my  dear  boy  ! and  attend  to  me.  Should  Po- 
land become  the  property  of  other  nations,  I conjure  you,  if 
you  survive  its  fall,  to  leave  it.  When  reduced  to  captivity,  it 
will  no  longer  be  an  asylum  for  a man  of  honor.  I beseech 
you,  should  this  happen,  go  that  very  hour  to  England  : that 
is  a free  country  ; and  I have  been  told  that  the  people  are 
kind  to  the  unfortunate.  Perhaps  you  will  find  that  Pembroke 
Somerset  hath  not  quite  forgotten  Poland.  Thaddeus  ! Why 
do  you  delay  to  answer  me  ? Remember,  these  are  your 
mother’s  dying  words  ! ” 

“ I will  obey  them,  my  mother  ! ” 

“ Then,”  continued  she,  taking  from  her  bosom  a small 
miniature,  “ let  me  tie  this  round  your  neck.  It  is  the  por- 
trait of  your  father.”  Thaddeus  bent  his  head,  and  the  coun- 
tess fastened  it  under  his  neck-cloth.  “ Prize  this  gift,  my 
child  ; it  is  likely  to  be  all  that  you  will  now  inherit  either  from 
me  or  that  father.  Try  to  forget  his  injustice,  my  dear  son  ; 
and  in  memory  of  me,  never  part  with  that  picture.  O,  Thad- 
deus ! From  the  moment  in  which  I first  received  it  until 
this  instant,  it  has  never  been  from  my  heart  i ” 

^ “And  it  shall  never  leave  mine,”  answered  he,  in  a stifled 
voice,  “ whilst  I have  being.” 

The  countess  was  preparing  to  reply,  when  a sudden  volley 
of  firearms  made  Thaddeus  spring  upon  his  feet.  Loud  cries 
succeeded.  Women  rushed  into  the  apartment,  screaming, 


THADDEt/S  OF  IVARSAm 


96 

“ The  ramparts  are  stormed  ! ’’  and  the  next  moment  that  quar- 
ter of  the  building  rocked  to  its  foundation.  The  countess 
clung  to  the  bosom  of  her  son.  Thaddeus  clasped  her  close 
to  his  breast,  and  casting  up  his  petitioning  eyes  to  heaven, 
cried,  Shield  of  the  desolate  ! grant  me  a shelter  for  my 
mother 

Another  burst  of  cannon  was  followed  by  a heavy  crash, 
and  the  most  piercin^^hrieks  echoed  through  the  palace. 

All  is  lost ! ’’  cried  a soldier,  who  appeared  for  an  instant  at 
the  room  door,  and  then  vanished. 

Thaddeus,  overwhelmed  with  despair,  grasped  his  sword, 
which  had  fallen  to  the  ground,  and  crying,  “ My  mother,  we 
will  die  together  ! ’’  would  have  given  her  one  last  and  assuring 
embrace,  when  his  eyes  met  the  sight  of  her  before-agitated 
features  tranquillized  in  death.  She  fell  from  his  palsied  arms 
back  on  the  couch,  and  he  stood  gazing  on  her  as  if  struck  by 
a power  which  had  benumbed  all  his  faculties. 

The  tumult  in  the  palace  increased  every  moment ; but  he 
heard  it  not,  until  Butzou,  followed  by  two  or  three  of  his  sol- 
diers, ran  into  the  apartment,  calling  out  ‘‘  Count,  save  your- 
self!” 

Sobieski  still  remained  motionless.  The  general  caught 
him  by  the  arm,  and  instantly  covering  the  body  of  the  de- 
ceased countess  with  the  mantle  of  her  son,  hurried  his  un- 
conscious steps,  by  an  opposite  door,  through  the  state  cham- 
bers into  the  gardens. 

Thaddeus  did  not  recover  his  recollection  until  he  reached 
the  outward  gate  ; then,  breaking  from  the  hold  of  his  friend, 
was  returning  to  the  sorrowful  scene  he  had  left,  when  Butzou, 
aware  of  his  intentions,  just  stopped  him  in  time  to  prevent  his 
rushing  on  the  bayonets  of  a party  of  the  enemy’s  infantry,  who 
were  pursuing  them  at  full  speed. 

The  count  now  rallied  his  distracted  faculties,  and  making 
a stand,  with  the  general  and  his  three  Poles,  they  compelled 
this  merciless  detachment  to  seek  refuge  among  the  arcades  of 
the  building. 

Butzon  would  not  allow  his  young  lord  to  follow  in  that 
direction,  but  hurried  him  across  the  park.  He  looked  back, 
however  ; a column  of  fire  issued  from  the  south  towers.  Thad- 
deus  sighed,  as  if  his  life  were  in  that  sigh,  ‘‘  All  is  indeed 
over ; ” and  pressing  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  in  that  attitude 
followed  the  steps  of  the  general  towards  the  Vistula. 

The  wind  being  very  high,  the  flame  soon  spread  itself  over 
the  roof  of  the  palace,  and  catching  at  every  combustible  in  its 


97 


THADDEUS  of  WARSAW. 

way,  the  invaders  became  so  terrified  at  the  quick  progress  of 
a fire  which  threatened  to  consume  themselves  as  well  as  their 
plunder,  that  they  quitted  the  spot  with  precipitation.  De- 
scrying  the  count  and  his  soldiers  at  a short  distance,  they 
directed  their  motions  to  that  point.  Speedily  confronting  the 
brave  fugitives,  they  blocked  up  a bridge  by  a file  of  men  with 
fixed  pikes,  and  not  only  menaced  the  Polanders  as  they  ad- 
vanced, but  derided  their  means  of  resistance. 

Sobieski,' indifferent  alike  to  danger  and  to  insults,  stopped 
short  to  the  left,  and  followed  by  his  friends,  plunged  into  the 
stream,  amidst  a shower  of  musket-balls  from  the  enemy.  After 
hard  buffeting  with  the  torrent,  he  at  last  reached  the  opposite 
bank,  and  was  assisted  from  the  river  by  some  of  the  weeping 
inhabitants  of  Warsaw,  who  had  been  watching  the  expiring 
[ashes  of  Praga,  and  the  flames  then  devouring  the  boasted 
[towers  of  Villanow. 

Emerged  from  the  water,  Thaddeus  stood  to  regain  his 
breath  ; and  leaning  on  the  shoulder  of  Butzou,  he  pointed  to 
his  burning  palace  with  a smile  of  agony.  See,”  said  he, 
“ what  a funeral  pile  Heaven  has  given  to  the  manes  of  my  un- 
buried mother ! ” 

The  general  did  not  speak,  for  grief  stopped  his  utterance  ; 
but  motioning  the  two  soldiers  to  proceed,  he  supported  the 
count  into  the  citadel. 


CHAPTER  X. 

SOBIESKI  S DEPARTTTRE  FROM  WARSAW. 

From  the  termination  of  this  awful  day,  in  which  a brave 
and  hitherto  powerful  people  were  consigned  to  an  abject  de- 
pendence, Thaddeus  was  confined  to  his  apartment  in  the  gar- 
rison. 

It  was  now  the  latter  end  of  November.  General  Butzou, 

; supposing  that  the  illness  of  his  young  lord  might  continue 
some  weeks,  and  aware  that  no  time  ought  to  be  lost  in  main- 
taining all  that  was  yet  left  of  the  kingdom  of  Poland,  obtained 
' his  permission  to  seek  its  only  remaining  quarter.  Quitting 
Warsaw,  he  joined  Prince  Poniatowski,  who  was  yet  at  the 
head  of  a few  troops  near  Sachoryn,  supported  by  the  undaunted 
Niemcivitz,  the  bard  and  the  hero,  who  had  fought  by  the  side 


THADDEUS  Of  H^AESA  IV. 


98 

of  the  then  imprisoned  Kosciusko  in  the  last  battle  in  which 

that  general  fell.*  _ . 1 

Meanwhile  the  young  count,  finding  hiinselt  tolerably  re- 
stored, except  in  those  wounds  of  the  heart  winch  time  only  can 
heal,  was  enabled  to  leave  his  room,  and  breathe  the  fresh  air 
on  the  ramparts.  His  appearance  was  greeted  by  the  officers 
with  melancholy  congratulations  ; but  their  replies  to  his  anx- 
ious questions  displaced  the  faint  smile  which  he  tried  to  spread 
over  his  countenance,  and  with  a contracted  brow  he  listened 
to  the  following  information  : — 

Praga  was  not  only  razed  to  the  ground,  but  upwards  ol 
three  thousand  persons  had  perished  by  the  sword,  the  river, 
and  the  flames.  All  the  horrors  of  Ismail  had  been  re-enacted 
by  its  conqueror  on  the  banks  of  the  Vistula.  The  citizens  of 
Warsaw,  intimidated  by  such  a spectacle,  assembled  in  a body, 
and,  driven  to  desperation,  repaired  to  the  foot  of  the  throne. 
On  their  knees  they  implored  his  majesty  to  forget  the  contested 
rio-hts  of  his  subjects,  and  in  pity  to  their  wives  and  children, 
alTow  them,  by  a timely  submission,  to  save  those  dear  relatives 
from  the  ignominy  and  cruelty  which  had  been  wreaked 
the  inhabitants  of  Praga.  Stanislaus  saw  that  opposition  would 
be  fruitless.  The  walls  of  his  capital  were  already  sunounded 
by  a train  of  artillery,  ready  to  blow  the  town  to  atoms  ; the 
fate  of  Poland  seemed  inevitable,  and  with  a deep  sigh,  the 
king  assented  to  the  petition,  and  sent  deputies  to  the  enemy^s 


“ General  Suwairow,  the  comnlander-in-chief,’'  continued 
the  officer,  “ demands  that  every  man  in  Warsaw  shall  not  only 
surrender  his  arms,  but  sue  for  pardon  foi  the  past. 
his  reply  to  the  submission  of  the  king,  and  these  conditions 

are  accepted.’^  . . ^ , . , . i ^ 

‘‘  They  never  shall  be  by  me,’^  said  Sooieski , and  turning 
fi\  jv  his  informer,  hardly  knowing  what  were  his  intentions,  he 

walked  towards  the  royal  palace.  c 

When  his  majesty  was  apprised  that  the  young  Count  bo- 
bieski  awaited  his  commands  in  the  audience-chamber,  he  lett 
his  closet  and  entered  the  room.  Thaddeus,  with  a swelling 


* NiVmciv^z  had  been  a fellow  collegian  with  Kosciusko.  But  being  of  a more 
disposal  on  his  pen  rat^e  to,  his  sword  took  part  in  the  early  struggles  between  Po^nd 
fndTer  enemiesf  and  in  this  light  he  was  regarded  -%‘he  oHns^^^^^ 

with  the  friend  of  his  youth,  the  severely-wounded  General  Kosciusko,  vv  ne  . 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


99 

heart,  would  have  thrown  himself  on  his  knee,  but  the  king  pre- 
vented him,  and  pressed  him  with  emotion  in  his  arms. 

“ Brave  young  man  ! cried  he,  “ I embrace  in  you  the  last 
of  those  Polish  youth  who  were  so  lately  the  brightest  jewels 
in  my  crown.’^ 

Tears  stood  in  the  monarch’s  eyes  while  he  spoke.  Sobieski, 
with  hardly  a steadier  utterance,  answered,  “ I come  to  receive 
your  majesty’s  commands.  I will  obey  them  in  all  things  but 
in  surrendering  this  sword  (which  was  my  grandfather’s)  into 
the  hands  of  your  enemies.” 

‘‘  I will  not  desire  it,”  replied  Stanislaus.  By  my  acqui- 
escence with  the  terms  of  Russia,  I only  comply  with  the  earnest 
petitions  of  my  people.  I shall  not  require  of  you  to  com- 
promise your  country  ; but  alas  ! you  must  not  throw  away  your 
life  in  a now  hopeless  cause.  Fate  has  consigned  Poland  to 
subjection ; and  when  Heaven,  in  its  mysterious  decrees,  con- 
firms the  chastisement  of  nations,  it  is  man’s  duty  to  submit. 
For  myself,  I am  to  bury  my  griefs  and  indignities  in  the  castle 
of  Grodno.” 

The  blood  rushed  over  the  cheek  of  Thaddeus  at  this  dec- 
laration, to  which  the  proud  indignation  of  his  soul  could  in 
no  way  subscribe,  and  with  an  agitated  voice  he  exclaimed,  If 
my  sovereign  be  already  at  the  command  of  our  oppressors, 
then  indeed  is  Poland  no  more  ! and  I have  nothing  to  do  but 
to  perform  the  dying  will  of  my  mother.  Will  your  majesty 
grant  me  permission  to  set  off  for  England,  before  I may  be 
obliged  to  witness  the  last  calamity  of  my  wretched  country  ^ ” 

“ I would  to  Heaven,”  replied  the  king,  that  I,  too,  might 
repose  my  age  and  sorrows  in  that  happy  kingdom  ! Go,  So- 
bieski ; your  name  is  worthy  of  such  an  asylum  ; my  prayers 
and  blessings  shall  follow  you.” 
i Thaddeus  pressed  his  hand  in  silence  to  his  lips. 

? “ Believe  me,  my  dear  count,”  continued  Stanislaus,  “ my 

soul  bleeds  at  this  parting.  I know  the  treasure  which  your 
family  has  always  been  to  this  nation  ; I know  your  own  indi- 
vidual merit.  I know  the  wealth  which  you  have  sacrificed  for 
me  and  my  subjects,  and  I am  powerless  to  express  my  grati- 
tilde.” 

Had  I done  more  than  my  duty  in  that,”  replied  Thad- 
deus, such  words  from  your  majesty  would  have  been  a reward 
adequate  to  any  privation  ; but,  alas  ! no.  I have  perhaps  per- 
I formed  less  than  my  duty  ; the  blood  of  Sobieski  ought  not  to 
fjhave  been  spared  one  drop  when  the  liberties  of  his  country 
jiperished  ! ” Thaddeus  blushed  while  he  spoke,  and  almost  re- 


100 


rtJADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


pented  the  too  ready  zeal  of  his  friends  in  having  saved  him 
from  the  general  destruction  at  Villanow.  r • . oc 

The  voice  of  the  venerable  Stanislaus  became  fainter  as  he 

"^'Tperhaps  had  a Sobieski  reigned  at  this  time,  these  horrors 
might  not  have  been  accomplished.  That  resistless  power 
whfch  has  overwhelmed  my  people,  I cannot  forget  is  the  same 
that  put  the  sceptre  into  my  hand. 

stood  mv  principles,  when  assisting  in  my  election  to  the  throne , 
yfhe  thSit  she  was  planting  merely  her  own  viceroy  there. 
But  I could  not  obliterate  from  my  heart  that  my  ancestors, 
like  vour  own,  were  hereditary  sovereigns  of  Poland,  nor  cease 
to  fell  the  stamp  the  King  of  kings  had  f 
—to  uphold  the  just  laws  of  my  fathers ! and,  to  the  utmost,  I 

have  strusfsfled  to  fulfil  my  trust.  i 

“Yes  my  sovereign,”  replied  Thaddeus;  and  whilst  the  e 
remain^one^nanon%arthwho  has  drawn  his  first  breath  m 
Poland,  he  will  bear  witness  in  all  the  lands  through  which  e 
mav  be  doomed  to  wander  that  he  has  received  from  you  the 
carl  and  Xction  of  a father.  O ! sire,  how  will  future  ages 
believe  that,  in  the  midst  of  civilized  Europe  a brave  people 
XTvirtuo’us  monarch  were  suffered,  unaided,  and  even 
out  remonstrance,  to_  fall  into^the  grasp  of  usurpation  !-nay, 
of  annihilation  of  their  name  1 

Stanislaus  laid  his  hand  on  the  arm  of  the  co  n. 


“Xn’s  ambition  and  baseness,”  -id  the  king  “ are  mom 


strourtothe“coTt;Xl”afionoYy  You  are  learning 

vour  lesson  early ; I have  studied  mine  for  many  years,  and 
with  a bitterness  of  soul  which  in  some  measure  prepared  me 
for  the  completion.  My  kingdom  ^asTa-ed  from  me  at^ 
moment  you  have  lost  your  country.  Before  we  part  forever, 
mv  dear^  Sobieski,  take  with  you  this  assurance  you  have 
served  the  unfortunate  Stanislaus  to  the  latest  hour  in  whic 
you  beheld  him.  That  which  you  have  -id  expressiv 
the  sentiments  of  those  who  were  my  subjects,  is  indeed  a 
balm  to  my  heart,  and  I will  carry  its  consolations  to  my 

^”Xe  king  paused.  Sobieski,  agitated,  and  incapable  of 
speaking  thfevJ^  himself  at  his  majesty’s  feet,  and  pressed  his 
a w^h  fervency  and  anguich  to  his  lips  The  ^ng  ook  d 
down  on  his  graceful  figure,  and  pierced  to  the  soul  by  tiie 
more  g-raceful  feelings  which  dictated  the  action,  the  tear  w ii 
TtoSYn  his  iye,  rilled  over  his  cheek,  and  was  followed  b, 
another  before  he  could  add— 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


loi 


“Rise,  niy  young  friend.  Take  from  me  this  ring.  It 
contains  my  picture.  Wear  it  in  remembrance  of  a man  who 
loves  you,  and  who  can  never  forget  your  worth  or  the  loyalty 
and  patriotism  of  your  house.’’ 

The  Chancellor  Zamoyisko  at  that  moment  being  an- 
nounced, Thaddeus  rose  from  his  knee,  and  was  preparing  to 
leave  the  room,  when  his  majesty,  perceiving  his  intention, 
desired  him  to  stop. 

“ Stay,  count  ! ” cried  he,  “ I will  burden  you  with  one 
request.  I am  now  a king  without  a crown,  without  subjects, 
without  a foot  of  land  in  which  to  bury  me  when  I die.  I 
cannot  reward  the  fidelity  of  any  one  of  the  few  friends  of 
whom  my  enemies  have  not  deprived  me ; but  you  are  young, 
and  Heaven  may  yet  smile  upon  you  in  some  distant  nation. 
Will  you  pay  a debt  of  gratitude  for  your  poor  sovereign  ? 
Should  you  ever  again  meet  with  the  good  old  Butzou,  who 
rescued  me  when  my  preservation  lay  on  the  fortune  of  a 
moment,  remember  that  I regard  him  as  once  the  saviour  of  my 
life  ! I was  told  to-day  that  on  the  destruction  of  Praga  this 
brave  man  joined  the  army  of  my  brother.  It  is  now*  disbanded, 
and  he,  with  the  rest  of  my  faithful  soldiers,  is  cast  forth  in  his 
old  age,  a wanderer  in  a pitiless  world.  Should  you  ever 
meet  him,  Sobieski,  succor  him  for  my  sake.” 

“ As  Heaven  may  succor  me  ! ” cried  Thaddeus  ; and  put- 
ting his  majesty’s  hand  a second  time  to  his  lips,  he  bowed  to 
the  chancellor  and  passed  into  the  street. 

When  the  count  returned  to  the  citadel,  he  found  that  all 
was  as  the  king  had  represented.  The  soldiers  in  the  garrison 
were  reluctantly  preparing  to  give  up  their  arms ; and  the 
nobles,  in  compassion  to  the  cries  of  the  people,  were  trying  to 
humble  their  necks  to  the  yoke  of  the  dictator.  The  magis- 
trates lingered  as  they  went  to  take  the  city  keys  from  the 
hands  of  tlicir  good  king,  and  with  sad  whispers  anticipated 
the  moment  in  which  they  must  surrender  them,  and  their  laws 
and  national  existence,  to  the  jealous  dominion  of  three 
despotic  foreign  powers. 

Poland  was  now  no  place  for  Sobieski.  He  had  survived 
all  his  kindred.  He  had  survived  the  liberties  of  his  country. 
He  had  seen  the  king  a prisoner,  and  his  countrymen  trampled 
on  by  deceit  and  usurpation.  As  he  walked  on,  musing  over 
these  circumstances,  he  met  with  little  interruption,  for  the 
streets  were  deserted.  Here  and  there  a poor  miserable  wretch 
^passed  him,  who  seemed,  by  his  wan  cheeks  and  haggard  eyes, 
already  to  repent  the  too  successful  prayers  of  the  deputation. 


102 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 


The  shops  were  sl:ut.  Thaddeus  stopped  a few  minutes  in  the 
great  square,  which  used  to  be  crowded  with  happy  citizens, 
but  now,  not  one  man  was  to  be  seen.  An  awful  and  painful 
silence  reigned  over  all.  His  soul  felt  too  truly  the  dread  con- 
sciousness of  ^this  utter  annihilation  of  his  country,  for  him  to 
throw  off  the  heavy  load  from  his  oppressed  heart,  in  this  his 
last  walk  down  the  east  street  towards  the  ramparts  which  cov- 
ered the  Vistula. 

He  turned  his  eyes  to  the  spot  where  once  stood  the  mag- 
nificent towers  of  his  paternal  palace. 

Yes,^’  cried  he,  “it  is  now  time  for  me  to  obey  the  last 
command  of  my  mother ! Nothing  remains  of  Poland  but  its 
soil — nothing  of  my  home  but  its  ashes  ! ” 

The  victors  had  pitched  a detachment  of  tents  amidst  the 
ruins  of  Villanow,  and  were  at  this  moment  busying  themselves 
in  searching  amongst  the  stupendous  fragments  for  what  plun- 
der the  fire  might  have  spared. 

“ Insatiate  robbers  ! exclaimed  Thaddeus ; “ Heaven  will 
requite  this  . sacrilege.’’  He  thought  on  his  mother,  who  lay 
beneath  the  ruins,  and  tore  himself  from  the  sight,  whilst  he 
added,  “ Farewell ! forever  farewell  ! thou  beloved,  revered 
Villanow,  where  I was  reared  in  bliss  and  tenderness  ! I quit 
thee  and  my  country  forever  ! ” As  he  spoke,  he  raised  his 
hands  and  eyes  to  heaven,  and  pressing  the  picture  his  mother 
had  given  him  to  his  lips  and  bosom,  turned  from  the  parapet, 
determining  to  prepare  that  night  for  his  departure  the  next 
morning. 

He  arose  by  daybreak,  and  having  gathered  together  all  his 
little  wealth,  the  whole  of  which  was  compressed  within  the 
portmanteau  that  was  buckled  on  his  gallant  horse,  precisely 
two  hours  before  the  triumphal  car  of  General  Suwarrow 
entered  Warsaw,  Sobieski  left  it.  As  he  rode  along  the  streets, 
he  bedewed  its  stones  with  his  tears.  They  were  the  first  that 
he  had  shed  during  the  long  series  of  his  misfortunes,  and  they 
now  flowed  so  fast,  that  he  could  hardly  discern  his  way  out  of 
the  city. 

At  the  great  gate  his  horse  stopped,  and  neighed  with  a 
strange  sound. 

“ Poor  Saladin  ! ” cried  Thaddeus,  stroking  his  neck;  “are 
you  so  sorry  at  leaving  Warsaw  that,  like  your  unhappy  master, 
you  linger  to  take  a last  lamenting  look  ! ” 

His  tears  redoubled ; and  the  warder,  as  he  closed  the  gate 
after  him,  implored  permission  to  kiss  the  hand  of  the  noble 
Count  Sobieski,  ere  he  should  turn  his  back  on  Poland,  never 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


^^3 

to  return.  Thaddeus  looked  kindly  round,  and  shaking  hands 
with  the  honest  man,  after  saying  a few  friendly  words  to  him, 
rode  on  with  a loitering  pace,  until  he  reached  that  part  of  the 
river  which  divides  Masovia  from  the  Prussian  dominions. 

Here  he  flung  himself  off  his  horse,  and  standing  for  a 
moment  on  the  hill  that  rises  near  the  bridge,  retraced,  with  his‘ 
almost  blinded  sight,  the  long  and  desolated  lands  through 
which  he  had  passed  ; then  involuntarily  dropping  on  his  knees, 
he  plucked  a tuft  of  grass,  and  pressing  it  to  his  lips,  exclaimed, 
Farewell,  Poland  ! Farewell  all  my  earthly  happiness  ! ” 

Almost  stifled  by  emotion,  he  put  this  poor  relic  of  his 
country  into  his  bosom,  and  remounting  his  noble  animal, 
crossed  the  bridge. 

As  one  who,  flying  from  any  particular  object,  thinks  to 
lose  himself  and  his  sorrows  when  it  lessens  to  his  view,  Sobieski 
pursued  the  remainder  of  his  journey  with  a speed  which  soon 
brought  him  to  Dantzic. 

Here  he  remained  a few  days,  and  during  thaj^  interval  the 
firmness  of  his  mind  was  restored.  He  felt  a calm  arising  from 
the  conviction  that  his  afflictions  had  gained  their  summit,  and 
that,  however  heavy  they  were,  Heaven  had  laid  them  on  him 
for  a trial  of  his  faith  and  virtue.  Under  this  belief,  he  ceased 
to  weep ; but  he  nev^er  was  seen  to  smile. 

Having  entered  into  an  agreement  with  the  master  of  a 
vessel  to  carry  him  across  the  sea,  he  found  the  strength  of  his 
finances  would  barely  defray  the  charges  of  the  voyage.  Con- 
sidering this  circumstance,  he  saw  the  impossibility  of  taking 
his  horse  to  England. 

The  first  time  this  idea  presented  itself,  it  almost  overset 
his.  determined  resignation.  Tears  would  again  have  started 
into  his  eyes,  had  he  not  by  force  repelled  them. 

“To  part  from  my  faithful  Saladin,’’  said  he  to  himself, 
“that  has  borne  me*  since  I first  could  use  a sword  ; that  has 
carried  me  through  so  many  dangers,  and  has  come  with  me 
even  into  exile — it  is  painful,  it  is  ungrateful ! He  was  in  the 
stable  when  this  thought  assailed  him ; and  as  the  reflections 
followed  each  other,  he  again  turned  to  the  stall.  “ But,  my 
poor  fellow,  I will  not  barter  your  services  for  gold.  I will 
seek  for  some  master  who  may  be  kind  to  you,  in  pity  to  my 
misfortunes.” 

He  re-entered  the  hotel  where  he  lodged,  and  calling  a 
waiter,  inquired  who  occupied  the  fine  mansion  and  park  on 
the  east  of  the  town.  The  man  replied,  “ Mr,  Hopetown,  an 
eminent  British  merchant,  who  has  been  settled  at  Dantzic 
above  forty  years.” 


104  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

I am  glad  he  is  a Briton ! ''  was  the  sentiment  which  sue 
ceeded  this  information  in  the  counts  mind.  He  immediately 
took  his  resolution,  but  hardly  had  prepared  to  put  it  into 
execution,  when  he  received  a summons  from  the  vessel  to  be 
on  board  in  half  an  hour,  the  wind  having  set  fair. 

Thaddeus,  somewhat  disconcerted  by  this  hasty  call,  with 
an  agitated  hand  wrote  the  following  letter : — 


“ 'Fo  John  Hopetown,  Esq. 

Sir, 

“A  Polish  officer,  who  has  sacrificed  everything  but  his 
honor  to  the  last  interests  of  his  country,  now  addresses  you, 

You^re  a Briton  ; and  of  whom  can  an  unhappy  victim 
to  the  cause  of  loyalty  and  freedom  with  less  debasement  solicit 
an  obligation  ? 

I cannot  afford  support  to  the  fine  animal  which  has 
carried  me  through  the  battles  of  this  fatal  war  ; I disdain  to 
sell  him,  and^therefore  I implore  you,  by  the  respect  that  you 
pay  to  the  memory  of  your  ancestors,  who  'struggled  for  aiul 
retained  that  liberty  in  defence  of  which  we  are  thus  reduced — 
I implore  you  to  give  him  an  asylum  in  your  park,  and  to  pro- 
tect him  from  injurious  usage. 

‘‘  Perform  this  benevolent  action,  sir,  and  you  shall  ever  be 
remembered  with  gratitude  by  an  unfortunate 

‘‘POLANDER. 

‘‘  Dantzic,  November y 1794.’’ 

The  count,  having  sealed  and  directed  this  letter,  went  to 
the  hotel  yard,  and  ordered  that  his  horse  might  be  brought 
out,  A few  days  of  rest  had  restored  him  to  his  former  mettle, 
and  he  appeared  from  the  stable  prancing  and  pawing  the 
earth,  as  he  used  to  do  when  Thaddeus  was  about  to  mount 
him  for  the  field.  , 

The  groom  was  striving  in  vain  to  restrain  the  spirit  of  the 
animal,  when  the  count  took  hold  of  the  bridle.  The  noble 
creature  knew  his  master,  and  became  gentle  as  a lamb.  After 
stroking  him  to  or  three  times,  with  a bursting  heart  Thaddeus 
returned  the  reins  to  the  man^s  hand,  and  at  the  same  time 
gave  him  a letter 

There,”  said  he  ; take  that  note  and  the  horse  directly 
to  the  house  of  Mr.  Hopetown.  Leave  them,  for  the  letter 
requires  no  answer.” 

'Fhis  last  pang  mastered,  he  walked  out  of  the  yard  towards 
the  quay.  The  wind  continuing  fair,  he  entered  the  ship,  and 
within  an  hour  set  sail  for  England. 


THADDEUS  01  JO  AES  A IV. 


^^5 


CHAPTER  XL 

THF  BALTIC. 

SoBiESKi  passed  the  greater  part  of  each  day  and  the  whole 
of  every  night  on  the  dgck  of  the  vessel.  He  was  too  much 
absorbed  in  himself  to  receive  any  amusement  from  the  passen- 
gers, who,  observing  his  melancholy,  thought  to  dispel  it  by 
their  company  and  conversation. 

When  any  of  these  people  came  upon  deck,  he  walked  to 
the  head  of  the  ship,  took  his  seat  upon  the  cable  which  bound 
the  anchor  to  the  forecastle,  and  while  their  fears  rendered  him 
safe  from  their  well-meant  persecution,  he  gained  some  respite 
from  vexation,  though  none  from  misery. 

The  ship  having  passed  through  the  Baltic,  and  entered  on 
the  British  sea,  the  passengers,  running  from  side  to  side  of 
the  vessels,  pointed  out  to  Thaddeus  the  distant  shore  of  Eng- 
land, lying  like  a hazy  ridge  along  the  horizon.  The  happy 
people,  whilst  they  strained  their  eyes  through  glasses,  desired 
him  to  observe  different  spots  on  the  hardly-perceptible  line 
which  they  called  Flamborough  Head  and  the  hills  of  York- 
shire. His  heart  turned  sick  at  these  objects  of  their  delight, 
for  not  one  of  them  raised  an  answering  feeling  in  his  breast. 
England  could  be  nothing  to  him  ; if  anything,  it  would  prove 
a desert,  which  contained  no  one  object  for  his  regrets  or 
wishes. 

The  image  of  Pembroke  Somerset,  indeed,  rose  in  his  mind, 
like  the  dim  recollection  of  one  who  has  been  a long  time  dead. 
Whilst  they  were  together  at  Villanow,  they  regarded  each 
other  warmly,  and  when  they  parted  they  promised  to  corre- 
spond. One  day,  in  pursuit  of  the  enemy,  Thaddeus  was  so 
unlucky  as  to  lose  the  jDocket-book  which  contained  his  friend’s 
address ; but  yet,  uneasy  at  his  silence,  he  ventured  two  letters 
to  him,  directed  merely  at  Sir  Robert  Somerset’s,  England. 
To  these  he  received  no  answer  ; and  the  palatine  evinced  so 
just  a displeasure  at  such  marked  neglect  and  ingratitude,  that 
he  would  not  suffer  him  to  be  mentioned  in  his  presence,  and 
indeed  Thaddeus,  from  disappointment  and  regret,  felt  no  in- 
clination to  transgress  the  command. 

When  the  young  cov'  ' during  the  prominent  interests  of 
the  late  disastrous  i*,  .rcraembcred  these  things,  he 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


io6 

found  little  comfort  in  recollecting  the  name  of  his  young 
English  guest  ; and  now  that  he  was  visiting  England  as  a 
poor  exile,  with  indignation  and  grief  he  gave  up  the  wish  with 
the  hope  of  meeting  Mr.  Somerset.  Sensible  that  Somerset 
had  not  acted  as  became  the  man  to  whom  he  could  apply  in 
his  distress,  he  resolved,  unfriended  as  he  was,  to  wipe  him  at 
once  from  his  memory.  With  a bitter  sigh  he  turned  his  back 
on  the  land  to  which  he  was  going,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the 
tract  of  sea  which  then  divided  him  from  all  that  he  had  ever 
loved,  or  had  given  him  true  happiness. 

Father  of  mercy ! murmured  he,  in  a suppressed  voice, 
‘‘  what  have  I done  to  deserve  this  misery  ? Why  have  I been 
at  one  stroke  deprived  of  all  that  rendered  existence  estimable  ? 
Two  months  ago,  I had  a mother,  a more  than  father,  to  love 
and  cherish  me  ; I had  a country,  that  looked  up  to  them  and 
to  me  with  veneration  and  confidence.  Now,  I am  bereft  of  all. 
I have  neither  father,  mother,  nor  country,  but  I am  going  to 
a land  of  utter  strangers.” 

Such  impatient  adjurations  were  never  wrung  from  Sobieski 
by  the  anguish  of  sudden  torture  without  his  ingenuous  and 
pious  mind  reproaching  itself  for  such  faithless  repining.  His 
soul  was  soft  as  a woman’s  ; but  it  knew  neither  effeminacy  nor 
despair.  Whilst  his  heart  bled,  his  countenance  retained  its 
serenity.  Whilst  affliction  crushed  him  to  the  earth,  and  nature 
paid  a few  hard-wrung  drops  to  his  repeated  bereavements,  he 
contemned  his  tears,  and  raised  his  fixed  and  confiding  eye  to 
that  Power  which  poured  down  its  tempests  on  his  head. 
Thaddeus  felt  as  a man,  but  received  consolation  as  a Chris- 
tian. 

When  his  ship  arrived  at  the  mouth  of  the  Thames,  the 
eagerness  of  the  passengers  increased  to  such  an  excess  that 
they  would  not  stand  still,  nor  be  silent  a moment ; and  when 
the  vessel,  under  full  sail,  passed  Sheerness,  and  the  dome  of 
St.  Paul’s  appeared  before  them,  their  exclamations  were  loud 
and  incessant.  ‘‘  My  home  I my  parents  ! my  wife  ! my  friends  ! ” 
were  the  burden  of  every  tongue. 

Thaddeus  found  his  calmed  spirits  again  disturbed;  and, 
rising  from  his  seat,  he  retired  unobserved  by  the  people,  who 
were  too  happy  to  attend  to  anything  which  did  not  agree  with 
their  own  transports.  The  cabin  was  as  deserted  as  himself. 
Feeling  that  there  is  no  solitude  like  that  of  the  heart,  when  it 
looks  around  and  sees  in  the  vast  concourse  of  human  beings 
not  one  to  whom  it  can  pour  forth  its  sorrows,  or  receive  the 
answering  sigh  of  sympathy,  he  threw  himself  on  one  of  the 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


107 

lockers,  and  with  difficulty  restrained  the  tears  from  gushing 
from  his  eyes.  He  held  his  hand  over  them,  while  he  con- 
temned himseli  for  a weakness  so  unbecoming  his  manhood. 

He  despised  himselt : but  let  not  others  despise  him.  It  is 
difficult  tor  those  who  lie  morning  and  evening  in  the  lap  of 
domestic  indulgence  to  ccnceive  the  misery  ot  being  thrown  out 
into  a bleak  and  merciless  world  ; it  is  impossible  ror  the  happy 
man,  surrounded  by  luxury  and  gay  companions,  to  figure  to 
himself  the  reflections  of  a fellow-creature  who,  having  been 
fostered  in  the  bosom  of  affection  and  elegance,  is  cast  at  once 
from  all  society,  bereft  of  home,  of  comfort,  of  every  stay, 
save  innocence  and  Heaven.’'  None  but  the  wretched  can 
imagine  what  the  wretched  endure  from  actual  distress,  from 
apprehended  misfortune,  from  outraged  feelings,  and  ten 
thousand  nameless  sensibilities  to  offence  which  only  the  un- 
fortunate can  conceive,  dread  and  experience.  But  what  is  it 
to  be  not  only  without  a home,  but  without  a country  ? Thad- 
deus  unconsciously  uttered  a groan  like  that  of  death. 

The  noise  redoubled  above  his  head,  and  in  a few  minutes 
afterwards  one  of  the  sailors  came  rumbling  down  the  stairs. 

“ Will  it  please  your  honor,”  said  he,  to  get  up  That 
be  my  chest,  and  I want  my  clothes  to  clean  myself  before  I 
go  on  shore.  Mother  I know  be  waiting  me  at  Blackwall.” 

Thaddeus  rose,  and  with  a withered  heart  again  ascended 
to  the  deck. 

On  coming  up  the  hatchway,  he  saw  that  the  ship  was  moored 
in  the  midst  of  a large  city,  and  was  surrounded  by  myriads  of 
rasels  from  every  quarter  of  the  globe.  He  leaned  over  the 
railing,  and  in  silence  looked  down  on  the  other  passengers, 
who  where  bearing  off  in  boats,  and  shaking  hands  with  the 
people  who  came  to  receive  them. 

“ It  is  near  dark,  sir,”  said  the  captain  ; “ mayhap  you 
would  wish  to  go  on  shore  ? There  is  a boat  just  come  round, 
and  the  tide  won’t  serve  much  longer  : and  as  yourfriends  don’t 
>eem  to  be  coming  for  you,  you  are  welcome  to  a place  in  it 
with  me.” 

The  count  thanked  him  ; and  after  defraying  the  expenses 
Df  the  voyage,  and  giving  nf(5hey  amongst  the  sailors,  he  desired 
;hat  his  portmanteau  might  be  put  into  the  wherry.  The 
lonest  fellows,  in  gratitude  to  the  bounly  of  their  passenger, 
who  should  obey  his  commands,  when  the  skipper, 
ingiy  at  being  detained,  snatched  away  the  baggage,  and  fling- 
ng  it  into  the  boat,  leaped  in  after  it,  and  was  followed  by 
Thaddeus. 


io8  THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A IV, 

The  taciturnity  of  the  seamen  and  the  deep  melancholy 
of  his  guest  were  not  broken  until  they  reached  the  Tower 
stairs. 

“ Go,  Ben,  fetch  the  gentleman  a coach.” 

The  count  bowed  to  the  captain,  who  gave  the  order,  and 
in  a few  minutes  the  boy  returned,  saying  there  was  one  in 
waiting.  He  took  up  the  portmanteau,  and  Thaddeus,  follow- 
ing him,  ascended  the  Tower  stairs,  where  the  carriage  stood. 
Ben  threw  in  the  baggage  and  the  count  put  his  foot  on  the 
step. 

“ Where  must  the  man  drive  to  ? ” 

Thaddeus  drew  it  back  again. 

“Yes,  sir,”  continued  the  lad;  “where  be  your  honoris 
home  ? ” 

“ In  my  grave,”  was  the  response  his  aching  heart  made  to 
this  question.  He  hesitated  before  he  spoke.  “An  hotel,” 
said  he,  flinging  himself  on  the  seat,  and  throwing  a piece  of 
silver  into  the  lad’s  hat. 

“ What  hotel,  sir  ? ” asked  the  coachman. 

“ Any.” 

The  man  closed  the  door,  mounted  his  box,  and  drove 

off. 

It  was  now  near  seven  o’clock,  on  a dark  December  even- 
ing. The  lamps  were  lighted ; and  it  being  Saturday-night, 
the  streets  were  crowded  with  people.  Thaddeus  looked  at 
them  as  he  was  driven  along.  “ Happy  creatures  ! ” thought 
he ; “ you  have  each  a home  to  go  to  ; you  have  each  expec- 
tant friends  to  welcome  you  ; every  one  of  you  knows  some 
in  the  world  who  will  smile  when  you  enter  ; whilst  I,  wretched, 
wretched  Sobieski  where  are  now  all  thy  highly-prized  treasures, 
thy  boasted  glory,  and  those  beloved  ones  who  rendered  that 
glory  most  precious  to  thee  ? Alas  ! all  are  withdrawn  ; vanish- 
ed like  a scene  of  enchantment,  from  which  I have  indeed  awa- 
kened to  a frightful  solitude.” 

His  reflections  were  broken  by  the  stopping  of  the  carriage. 
The  man  opened  the  door. 

“ Sir,  I have  brought  you  to  the  Hummums,  Covent  Garden  ; 
it  has  as  good  accommodations  as  any  in  the  town.  My  fare  is 
five  shillings. 

Thaddeus  paid  the  amount,  and  followed  him  and  his  bag- 
gage into  the  coffee-room.  At  the  entrance  of  a man  of  his 
figure,  several  waiters  presented  themselves,  begging  to  know 
his  commands. 

“ I want  a chamber.” 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  109 

He  was  ushered  into  a very  handsome  dining-room,  where 
5ne  of  them  laid  down  the  portmanteau,  and  then  bowing  low, 
inquired  whether  he  had  dined. 

The  waiter  having  received  his  orders,  (for  the  count  saw 
that  it  was  necessary  to  call  for  something’;)  hastened  into  the 
kitchen  to  communicate  them  to  the  cook. 

Upon  my  word,  Betty,”  cried  he,  ^‘you  must  do  3’our  best 
to-night ; for  the  chicken  is  for  the  finest-looking  fellow  you 
ever  set  eyes  on.  By  Jove,  I believe  him  to  be  some  Russian 
nobleman  ; perhaps  the  great  Suwarrow  himself  ! and  he  speaks 
English  as  well  as  I do  myself.” 

prince,  you  mean,  Jenkins!”  said  a pretty  girl  who 
entered  at  that  moment.  “ Since  I was  borne  I never  see’d 
any  English  lord  walk  up  and  down  the  room  with  such  an 
air ; he  looks  like  a king.  For  my  part,  I should  not  wonder 
if  he  is  one  of  them  there  emigrant  kings,  for  they  say  there 
is  a power  of  them  now  wandering  about  the  world.” 

“ You  talk  like  a fool,  Sally,”  cried  the  sapient  waiter. 
“ Don’t  you  see  that  his  dress  is  military  ? Look  at  his  black 
cap,  with  its  long  bag  and  great  feather,  and  the  monstrous 
sword  at  his  side  ; look  at  them,  and  then  if  you  can,  say  I am 
mistaken  in  deciding  that  he  is  some  great  Russian  commander, 
— most  likely  come  over  as  ambassador  ! ” 

“But  he  came  in  a hackney-coach,”  cried  a little  dirty  boy 
in  the  corner.  “ As  I was  running  up  stairs  with  Colonel 
Leson’s  shoes,  I see’d  the  coachman  bring  in  his  portman- 
teau.” 

‘•Well,  Jack-a-napes,  what  of  that  ” cried  Jenkins;  “is  a 
nobleman  always  to  carry  his  equipage  about  him,  like  a snail 
with  its  shell  on  its  back  t To  be  sure,  this  foreign  lord,  or 
prince,  is  only  come  to  stay  here  till  his  own  house  is  fit  for 
him.  I will  be  civil  to  him.” 

“And  so  will  I,  JenkinsJ’  rejoined  Sally,  smiling;  “for  I 
never  see’d  such  handsome  blue  eyes  in  my  born  days  ; and 
they  turned  so  sweet  on  me,  and  he  spoke  so  kindly  when  he 
bade  me  stir  the  fire ; and  when  he  sat  down  by  it,  and  throwed 
off  his  great  fur  cloak,  I see’d  a glittering  star  on  his  breast, 
and  a figure  so  noble,  that  indeed,  cook,  I do  verily  believe  he 
is,  as  Jenkins  says,  an  enthroned  king  1 ” 

“You  and  Jenkins  be  a pair  of  fools, ”cried  the  cook,  wl  \ 
without  noticing  their  description,  had  been  sulkily  basting  the 
fowl.  “ I will  be  sworn  he’s  just  such  another  king  as  that 
.palavering  rogue  was  a French  duke  who  got  my  master’s  watch 
and  pawned  it  ! As  for  you,  Sally,  you  had  better  beware  of 


no 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W, 


hunting  after  foreign  men-folk  : it^s  not  seemly  fpr  a young 
woman,  and  you  may  chance  to  rue  it.’’ 

The  moralizing  cook  had  now  brought  the  whole  kitchen  on 
her  shoulders.  The  men  abused  her  for  a surly  old  maid,  and 
the  women  tittered,  whilst  they  seconded  her  censure  by  cutting 
sly  jokes  on  the  blushing  face  of  poor  Sally,  who  stood  almost 
crying  by  the  side  of  her  champion,  Jenkins. 

Whilst  this  hubbub  was  going  forward  below  stairs,  its  un- 
conscious subject  was,  as  Sally  had  described,  sitting  in  a 
chair  close  to  the  fire,  with  his  feet  on  the  fender,  his  arms 
folded,  and  his  eyes  bent  on  the  flames.  He  mused  ; but  his 
ideas  followed  each  other  in  such  quick  confused  succession,  it 
hardly  could  be  said  he  thought  of  anything. 

The  entrance  of  dinner  roused  him  from  his  reverie.  It 
was  carried  in  by  at  least  half  a dozen  waiters.  The  count  had 
been  so  accustomed  to  a numerous  suite  of  attendants,  he  did 
not*  observe  the  parcelling  out  of  his  temperate  meal : one 
bringing  in  the  fowl,  another  the  bread,  his  neighbor  the  solitary 
plate,  and  the  rest  in  like  order,  so  solicitous  were  the  male 
listeners  in  the  kitchen  to  see  this  wonderful  Russian. 

Thaddeus  partook  but  lightly  of  the  refreshment.  Being 
already  fatigued  in  body,  and  dizzy  with  the  motion  of  the  ves- 
sel, as  soon  as  the  cloth  was  withdrawn,  he  ordered  a night 
candle,  and  desired  to  be  shown  to  his  chamber. 

Jenkins,  whom  the  sight  of  the  embroidered  star  confirmed 
in  his  decision  that  the  foreigner  must  be  a person  of  conse- 
quence, with  increased  agility  whipped  up  the  portmanteau  and 
led  the  way  to  the  sleeping-rooms.  Here  curiosity  put  on  a 
nev/  form  ; the  women  servants,  determined  to  have  their  wishes 
gratified  as  well  as  the  men,  had  arranged  themselves  on  each 
side  of  the  passage  through  which  the  count  must  pass.  At  so 
strange  an  appearance,  Thaddeus  drew  back  ; but  supposing 
that  it  might  be  a custom  of  the  country,  he  proceeded  through 
this  fair  bevy,  and  bowed  as  he  walked  along  to  the  low  cur- 
tesies which  they  continued  to  make,  until  he  entered  his  apart- 
ment and  closed  the  door. 

The  unhappy  are  ever  restless  ; they  hope  in  every  change 
of  situation  to  obtain  some  alteration  in  their  feelings.  Thad- 
deus was  too  miserable  awake  not  to  view  with  eagerness  the 
bed  on  which  he  trusted  that,  for  a few  hours  at  least,  he  might 
lose  the  consciousness  of  his  desolation,  with  its  immediate 
suffering. 


TH A DDE  US  OF  WAFSAW. 


II I 


CHAPTER  XI L 

THADDEUS’S  FIRST  DAY  IN  ENGLAND. 

When  he  awoke  in  the  morning,  his  head  ached,  and  he 
felt  as  unrefreshed  as  when  he  had  lain  down  ; he  undrew  the 
curtain,  and  saw,  from  the  strength  of  the  light,  it  must  be  mid- 
day. He  got  up  ; and  having  dressed  himself,  descended  to 
the  sitting-room,  where  he  found  a good  fire  and  the  breakfast 
already  placed.  He  rang  the  bell,  and  walked  to  the  window, 
to  observe  the  appearance  of  the  morning.  A heavy  snow  had 
’fallen  during  the  night ; and  the  sun,  ascended  to  its  meridian, 
shone  through  the  thick  atmosphere  like  a ball  of  fire.  All 
seemed  comfortless  without;  and  turning  back  to  the  warm 
hearth,  which  was  blazing  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  he  was 
reseating  himself,  when  Jenkins  brought  in  the  tea-urn. 

“ I hope,  my  lord,”  said  the  waiter,  ‘‘  that  your  lordship 
slept  well  last  night  ? ” 

‘‘  Perfectly,  I thank  you,”  replied  the  count,  unmindful  that 
the  man  had  addressed  him  according  to  his  rank  ; ‘‘  when  you 
come  to  remove  these  things,  bring  me  my  bill.” 

Jenkins  bowed  and  withdrew,  congratulating  himself  on  his 
dexterity  in  having  saluted  the  stranger  with  his  title. 

During  the  absence  of  the  waiter,  Thaddeus  thought  it  time 
to  examine  the  state  of  his  purse.  He  well  recollected  how  he 
had  paid  at  Dantzic  ; and  from  the  style  in  which  he  was  served 
here,  he  did  not  doubt  that  to  defray  what  he  had  already  con- 
tracted would  nearly  exhaust  his  all.  He  emptied  the  contents 
of  his  purse  into  his  hands  ; a guinea  and  some  silver  was  all 
that  he  possessed.  A flush  of  terror  suffused  itself  over  his 
face  ; he  had  never  known  the  want  of  money  before,  and  he 
trembled  now  lest  the  charge  should  exceed  his  means  of  pay- 
ment. 

Jenkins  entered  with  the  bill.  On  the  count’s  examining 
it,  he  was  pleased  to  find  it  amounted  to  no  more  than  the  only 
piece  of  gold  his  purse  contained.  Pie  laid  it  upon  the  tea- 
board,  and  putting  half-a-crown  into  the  hand  of  Jenkins,  who 
appeared  waiting  for  something,  wrapped  his  cloak  round  him 
as  he  was  walking  out  of  the  room. 

“ I suppose,  my  lord,”  cried  Jenkins,  pocketing  the  money 
with  a smirk,  and  bowing  with  the  things  in  his  hands,  we  are 


7^HADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


1 12 

to  have  the  honor  of  seeing  your  lordship  again,  as  you  leav6 
your  portmanteau  behind  you?  ” 

Thaddeus  hesitated  a few  seconds,  then  again  moving  tow- 
ards the  door,  said,  “ I will  send  for  itE 

“ By  what  name,  my  lord  ? 

The  Count  Sobieski.’^ 

Jenkins  immediately  set  down  the  tea-board,  and  hurrying 
after  Thaddeus  along  the  passage,  and  through  the  coffee-room, 
darted  before  him,  and  opening  the  door  into  the  lobby  for  him 
to  go  out,  exclaimed,  loud  enough  for  everybody  to  hear,  ‘‘  De- 
pend upon  it.  Count  Sobieski,  I will  take  care  of  your  lord- 
ship’s baggage,” 

Thaddeus,  rather  displeased  at  his  noisy  officiousness,  only 
bent  his  head,  and  proceeded  into  the  street. 

The  air  was  piercing  cold  ; and  on  his  looking  around,  he 
perceived  by  the  disposition  of  the  square  in  which  he  was  that 
it  must  be  a market-place.  The  booths  and  stands  were  covered 
with  snow,  whilst  parts  of  the  pavement  were  rendered  nearly 
impassable  by  heaps  of  black  ice,  which  the  market-people  of 
the  preceding  day  had  shoveled  up  out  of  their  way.  He  recol- 
lected it  was  now  Sunday,  and  consequently  the  improbability 
of  finding  any  cheaper  lodgings  on  that  day."^ 

Thaddeus  stood  under  the  piazzas  for  two  or  three  minutes, 
bewildered  on  the  plan  he  should  adopt.  To  return  to  the 
hotel  for  any  purpose  but  to  sleep,  in  the  present  state  of  his 
finances,  won  id  be  impossible : he  therefore  determined,  inclem- 
ent as  the  season  was,  if  he  could  not  'find  a chapel,  to  walk 
the  streets  until  night.  He  might  then  go  back  to  the  Hum- 
mums  to  his  bed  chamber  ; but  he  resolved  to  quit  it  in  the 
morning,  for  a residence  more  suitable  to  his  slender  means. 

The  wind  blew  keenly  from  the  north-east,  accompanied 
with  a violent  shower  ot  sleet  and  rain  , yet  such  was  the  ab 
straction  of  his  mind,  that  he  hardly  observed  its  bitterness,  but 
walked  on,  careless  whither  his  feet  led  him,  until  he  stopped 
opposite  St.  Martin’s  church. 

God  is  my  only  friend  ! ” and  in  any  house  of  His  I shall 
surely  find  shelter  1 ” 

He  turned  up  the  steps,  and  was  entering  the  porch,  when 
he  met  the  congregation  thronging  out  of  it. 

‘‘  Ts  the  service  over  ? ” he  inquired  of  a decent  old  woman 

^ Those  who  remember  the  terrible  winter  of  1794,  will  not  call  this  description  exag- 
gerated. That  memorable  winter  was  one  ot  'Tio’irring  to  many  m England.  Some  ot  her 
own  brave  sons  perished  amidst  the  frozen  dy^^s  of.  Holland  and  the  Netherlands,  vainly 
opposing  the  march  of  the  French  anarchi«<s.  Kow  strange  appeared  then  to  him  the  doom 
or  nations  I 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 


”3 

vho  was  passing  him  clown  the  stairs.  The  woman  started  at 
his  question,  asked  her  in  English  by  a person  whose  dress 
vas  so  completely  foreign.  He  repeated  it.  Smiling  and 
■urtseying,  she  replied — 

“ Yes,  sir  ■,  and  I am  sorry  for  it.  Lord  bless  your  hand- 
,ome  face,  though  you  be  a stranger  gentleman,  it  does  one’s 
leart  good  to  see  you  so  devoutly  given  ! ” 

rhaddeus  blushed  at  this  personal  compliment,  though  it 
from  the  lips  of  a wrinkled  old  woman  ; and  begging  per- 
nission  to_  assist  her  down  the  stairs,  he  asked  when  service 
rould  begin  again. 

“ At  three  o'clock,  sir,  and  may  Heaven  bless  the  mother 
ifho  bore  so  pious  a son ! ” 

While  the  poor  woman  spoke,  she  raised  her  eyes  with  a 
aelancholy  resignation.  The  count,  touched  with  her  words 
md  manner,  almost  unconsciously  to  himself,  continued  by  her 
ide  as  she  hobbled  down  the  street. 

His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ground,  until  somebody  pressing 
gainst  him,  made  him  look  round.  He  saw  that  his  aged  com- 
anion  had  just  knocked  at  the  door  of  a mean-looking  house, 
nd  that  she  and  himself  were  surrounded  by  nearly  a dozen 
eople,  besides  boys  who  through  curiosity  had  followed  them 
•om  the  church  porch. 

Ah  ! sweet  sir,  cried  she,  “ these  folks  are  staring  at  so 
ne  a gentleman  taking  notice  of  age  and  poverty.” 

Thaddeus  was  uneasy  at  the  inquisitive  gaze  of  the  by- 
:anders  ; and  his  companion  observing  the  fluctuation  of  his 
■ountenance,  added,  as  the  door  was  opened  by  a little  girl, 

“ Will  your  honor  walk  in  out  of  the  rain,  and  warm  your- 
df  by  my  poor  fire  ? ” 

He  hesitated  a moment ; then,  accepting  her  invitation, 

I int  his  head  to  get  under  the  humble  door-way,  and  following 
Jr  through  a neatly-sanded  passage,  entered  a small  but  clean 
tchen.  A little  boy,  who  was  sitting  on  a stool  near  the  fire 
tered  a scream  at  the  sight  of  the  stranger,  and  running  up 
his  grandmother,  rolled  himself  in  her  cloak,  crying  out, 
Mammy,  mammy,  take  away  that  black  man  ! ” 

“ Be  quiet,  William  ; it  is  a gentleman,  and  no  black  man. 
am  so  ashamed,  sir ; but  he  is  only  three  years  old.” 

Ii"  I should  apologize  to  you,”  returned  the  count,  smiling, 
]|^.y;jf™ducing  a person  so  hideous  as  to  frighten  your 

i;  By  the  time  he  finished  speaking,  the  good  dame  had 
•cihed  the  shrieking  boy,  who  stood  trembling,  and  looking 


114 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


askance  at  the  tremendous  black  gentleman  stroking  the  head  i 

of  his  pretty  sister.  . ,r  t.  ^ 

“ Come  here,  my  dear  ! ” said  Thaddeus,  seating  himself  by  ! 
the  fire,  and  stretching  out  Iris  hand  to  the  child.  He  instantly 
buried  his  head  in  his  grandmother’s  apron.  i 

“ William  ! William  ! ” cried  his  sister,  pulling  him  by  the  | 
arm  “ the  gentleman  will  not  hurt  you.”  , i ! 

The  boy  again  lifted  up  his  head.  Thaddeus  threw  back  | 
his  long  sable  cloak,  and  taking  off  his  cap,  whose  hearse-hke  j 
plumes  he  thought  might  have  terrified  the  child,  he  laid  it  on  | 
the  ground,  and  again  stretching  forth  his  arms,  called  the  boy  ; 
to  approach  him.  Little  William  now  looked  steadfastly  in  his  , 
face,  and  then  on  the  cap,  which  he  had  laid  beside  him  ; 
whilst  he  grasped  his  grandmother’s  apron  with  one  hand  he 
held  out  the  other,  half  assured,  towards  the  count.  Thaddeus 
took  it,  and  pressing  it  softly,  pulled  him  gently  to  hmi,  a.nd 
placed  him  on  his  knee.  “ My  little  fellow,  said  he,  kissing 
him,  “ you  are  not  frightened  now  ? ” , , , , 

“ No,”  said  the  child  ; “ I see  you  are  not  the  ugly  black 
man  who  takes  away  naughty  boys.  The  ugly  black  man  has 
a black  face,  and  snakes  on  his  head  ; but  these  are  pretty 
curls ! ” added  he,  laughing,  and  putting  his  little  hngers 
through  the  thick  auburn  hair  which  hung  in.neglected^masses 
over  the  forehead  of  the  count.  , , . . , 

“ I am  ashamed  that  your  honor  should  sit  m a kitchen, 
said  the  old  lady  ; “ but  I have  not  a fire  in  any  other  room. 

“ Yes  ” said  her  granddaughter,  who  was  about  twelve  years 
old  ; “ grandmother  has  a nice  first-floor  up  stairs,  but  because 
we  have  no  lodgers,  there  be  no  fire  there.” 

“ Be  silent,  Nanny  Robson,”  said  the  dame  ; your  pert 

- ness  teases  the  gentleman.”  , , u 

O not  at  all,”  cried  Thaddeus  ; “ I ought  to  thank  her 
for  she’informs  me  you  have  lodgings  to  let ; will  you  allow  im 

to  engage  them ! ’’  i .r  r u 

“You  sir  ! ” cried  Mrs.  Robson,  thunderstruck  ; ^ for  wha 
purpose  ?'  Surely  so  noble  a gentleman  would  not  live  in  sucl 

a place  as  this  ? ” , t m in- 

<•  I wouid,  Mrs.  Robson  : I know  not  where  I could  liv 

with  more  comfort  ; and  where  comfort  is,  my  good  madan 
what  signifies  the  costliness  or  plainness  ot  the  dwelling. 

“ Well  sir,  if  you  be  indeed  serious ; but  I cannot  tmnk  yo 
are  ; you  are  certainly  making  a joke  of  me  for  my  boldness  i 

asking  vou  into  my  poor  house. 

“ Upon  m,y  honor,  I am  not,  Mrs.  Robson.  1 will  glad 


TIIADDEUS  OE  HAESAW. 


115 

be  your  lodger  if  you  will'admit  me  ; and  to  convince  you  that 
I am  in  earnest,  my  portmanteau  shall  this  moment  be  brought 
here.’’ 

^‘Well,  sir,”  resumed  she,  ‘'I  shall  be  honored  in  having 
you  in  my  house  ; but  I have  no  room  for  any  one  but  yourself, 
not  even  for  a servant.” 

“ I have  no  servant.” 

‘‘Then  I will  wait  on  him,  grandmother,”  cried  the  little 
Nanny  ; “ do  let  the  gentleman  have  them  ; I am  sure  he  looks 
honest.”  * 

The  woman  colored  at  this  last  observation  of  the  child, 
and  proceeded  : 

“ Then,  sir,  if  you  should  not  disdain  the  rooms  when  you 
see  them,  I shall  be  too  happy  in  having  so  good  a gentleman 
under  my  roof.  Pardon  my  boldness,  sir;  but  may  I ask?  I 
think  by  your  dress  you  are  a foreigner?  ” 

“ I am,”  replied  Thaddeus,  the  radiance  which  played  over 
his  features  contracting  into  a glow  ; “ if  you  have  no  objection 
to  take  a stranger  within  your  doors,  from  this  hour  1 shall 
consider  your  house  my  home  ? ” 

“As  your  honor  pleases,’'  said  Mrs.  Robson;  “ my  terms 
are  half-a-guinea  a week  ; and  I will  tend  on  you  as  though  you 
were  my  own  son  ! for  I cannot  forget,  excellent  young  gentle- 
man, the  way  in  which  we  first  met.” 

“ Then  I will  leave  you  for  the  present,”  returned  he,  rising, 
and  putting  down  the  'little  William,  who  had  been  amusing 
himself  with  examining  the  silver  points  of  the  star  of  St. 
Stanislaus  which  the  count  wore  on  his  breast.  “ In  the  mean- 
while,” said  he,  “my  pretty  friend, ’i  stooping  to  the  child, 
“let  this  bit  of  silver,”  was  just  mounting  to  his  tongue,  as  he 
put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  to  take  out  half-a-crown  ; but  he 
recollected  that  his  necessities  would  no  longer  admit  of  such 
gifts,  and  drawing  his  hand  back  with  a deep  and  bitter  sigh, 
he  touched  the  boy’s  cheek  with  his  lips,  and  added,  “ let  this 
kiss  remind  you  of  your  new  friend.” 

This  was  the  first  time  the  generous  spirit  of  Sobieski  had 
been  restrained  ; and  he  suffered  a pang,  for  the  poignancy  of 
which  he  could  not  account.  His  had  been  a life  accustomed 
to  acts  of  munificence.  His  grandfather’s  palace  was  the 
asylum  of  the  unhappy — his  grandfather’s  purse  a treasury  for  the 
unfortunate.  The  soul  of  Thaddeus  did  not  degenerate  from 
his  noble  relative  : his  generosity,  begun  in  inclination,  was 
nurtured  by  reflection,  and  strengthened  with  a daily  exercise 
which  had  rendered  it  a habit  of  his  nature.  Want  never 


ii6 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


aDoeared  before  him  without  exciting  a sympathetic  emotion  m 
his^  heart;  which  never  rested  until  he  had  administered  every 
comfort  in  the  power  of  wealth  to  bestow  His  compassion 
and  his  purse  were  the  substance  and  shadow  of  each 
The  poor^ of  his  country  thronged  from  every  part  of  the  king- 
c om  fo  receive  pity  and  relief  at  his  hands.  With  those  house- 
esT  wanderersPhe%eopl^  the  new  villages  his  grandfather 
had  erected  in  the  mid?t  of  lands  which  in  former  times  were 
the  haunts  of  wild  beasts.  Thaddeus  participated  in  the  hap- 
piness of  his  grateful  tenants,  and  many  were  the  oW 
whose  eyes  he  had  closed  in  thankfulness  and  peace.  These 
honest  peasants,  even  in  their  dying  moments,  wished  to  gu 
up  that  life  in  his  arms  which  he  had  rescued  from  miser>  He 
visited  their  cottage  ; he  smoothed  their  pillow  j j 

their  prayers;  and  when  their  last  sigh  came  to  ear  lie 
rSd  the  weeping  family  from  the  dust,  and  cheered  tl  em  | 
with  pious  exhortations  and  his  kindest  assurances  o pro 
tion  ^ How  often  has  the  countess  clasped  her  beloved  son  to 
er  breirwhen,  after  a scene  like  this,  he  has  returned  home 
he  tears  of  the  dying  man  and  his  children  yet  wet  upon  his 

ban?!  how  oftei/has  she  strained  him  to  V'n'eir  S'fl  e 
floods  of  rapture  have  poured  from  her  own  eyes  ! Heir  to  the 
first  fortune^ in  Poland,  he  scarcely  knew  the  means  by  w.iic 
he  bestowed  all  these  benefits  ; and  with  a soul  as  bounteous 

to  others  as  Heaven  had  been  munificent  to  ^ {remTentlV 
moved  he  shed  smiles  and  gifts  around  him.  . ^equenUy 

he  had  said  to  the  palatine,  when  his  carriage-whe 
cLedby  the  thankful  multitude,  “O  my  ather ! how  can  I 
SS  be  sufficiently  grateful  to  God  for  the  happiness  he  hath 
XttS  to  me  in  making  me  the  dispenser  of  so  many  bless 
in<rs  ' The  gratitude  of  these  people  overpowers  and 
mf  in  my  own  eyes;  what  have  I done  to  be  so  eininentl) 
favored  of  Heaven  ? I tremble  when  I ask  ™vself  the  qu 
tion  ” “You  may  tremble,  my  dear  boy,” 
father,  “ for  indeed  the  trial  is  a severe  one.  Prosperity,  li 
adversity,  is  an  ordeal  of  conduct.  Two  roads  are  before  th 
rich  man-vanity  or  virtue  ; you  liave  chosen  latter,  an ^ 
the  best  1 and  may  Heaven  ever  hold  you  in  it ! May  Heave 
ever  keep  your  heart  generous  and  pure!  ^o  on,  my  dea 

Thaddeus  as  you  have  commenced,  and  }OU  will  find  y 

Sea>orha,“b>;s,owe<l  wealth  upon  you 

done,  but  as  the  means  of  evincing  how  well  you  would  prov 

^ourself  his  faithful  steward/’  , t 

This  was  the  fortune  of  Thaddeus  ; and  now,  he  w 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


117 


scattered  thousands  without  counting  them  drew  back  his  hand 
with  something  like  horror  at  his  own  injustice,  when  he  was 
going  to  give  away  one  little  piece  of  silver,  which  he  might 
want  in  a day  or  two,  to  defray  some  indispensible  debt. 

“ Mrs.  Robson,”  said  he,  as  he  replaced  his  cap  upon  his 
head,  “ I shall  return  before  it  is  dark.” 

“Very  well,  sir,”  and  opening  the  door,  he  went  out  into 
the  lane. 

Ignorant  of  the  town,  and  thanking  Providence  for  having 
prepared  him  an  asylum,  he  directed  his  course  towards  Char- 
ing Cross.  He  looked  about  him  with  deepened  sadness  ; the 
wet  and  plashy  state  of  the  streets  gave  to  every  object  so 
comfortless  an  appearance,  he  could  scarcely  believe  himself  to 
be  in  that  London  of  which  he  had  read  with  so  much  delight. 
Where  were  the  magnificent  buildings  he  expected  to  see  in  the 
emporium  of  the  world  ? Where  that  cleanliness,  and  those 
tokens  of  greatness  and  splendor,  which  had  been  the  admira- 
tion and  boast  of  travellers.?  He  could  nowhere  discover 
them;  all  seemed  parts  of  a dark,  gloomy,  common-lookine 
city.  ^ 

5 Hardly  heeding  whither  he  went,  he  approached  the  Horse- 
iGuards ; a view  of  the  Park,  as  it  appears  through  the  wide 
[porch,  promised  him  less  unpleasantness  than  the  dirty  pave- 
^ment,  and  he  turned  in,  taking  his  way  along  the  Bird-Cage 
Walk.*  ® 


I The  trees,  stripped  of  their  leaves,  stood  naked,  and  drip- 
ping with  melten  snow.  The  season  was  in  unison  with  the 
count’s  fate.  He  was  taking  the  bitter  wind  for  his  repast 
and  quenching  his  thirst  with  the  rain  that  fell  on  his  pale  and 
feverish  lips.  He  felt  the  cutting  blast  enter  his  soul,  and  shut- 
nng  his  eyelids  to  repel  the  tears  which  were  rising  from  his 
^leart,  he  walked  faster ; but  in  spite  of  himself,  their  drops 
mngled  with  the  wet  that  trickled  from  his  cap  upon  his  face, 
r Jne  melancholy  thought  introduced  another,  until  his  bewil- 
: lered  mind  lived  over  again,  in  memory,  every  calamity  which 
lad  reduced  him  from  happiness  to  all  this  lonely  misery.  Two 


it. lllrtJsranr  W ‘'t>s  description  of 

' - « ~ - - > Cross,  an-c.  St.  Tames  s Park,  in  1794,  m what  they  now  see  there 


— rating  pages  win 

I'  1 184IA  Cross,  and  St.  James  s Park,  in  1/^4,  m wnai.  mey  now  see  tnere 

nd  someth.  'h^n  the  centre  of  threast  side  of  a long,  narrow 

tg^CrSJ  rtfthl'ts  Pf fticularly  in  the  end  below  the  church.  Chari 

InditwIslmtVll  showed  nothing  better  than  plain  tradesmen’s  shops; 

reared  i ‘ e^^^  the  Admiralty  and  entered  the  Horse-Guards,  that  anything 
Che  lower  part  ?"/"n  London.  The  Park  is  almost  completely  altered, 

^here  now^c^Il?  lu  ^ xt  ^ .totally  disappeared  ; also  its  adjunct,  the  King4  Mews, 
aaiestlr  ^ National  Gallery,  while  the  church  of  St.  Martin’s  rears  its 

'WthigrM^mv"a1nWurr,‘?  adjacent  common  buildings; 

te  centfeTf'^thTnl^-'iYa^^^^^^^^  Nelson,  occup^ies 


ii8 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


oSTf  the  benches,  and  sat  in  a musing  posture,  with  his  eyes 
""iTounroFv'ices^lproaching  roused  him.  Tjning  Ms 
SS;  he  judged 

who  was  patrolling  at  the  end  of  the  Mall^^  . it  is  the  best 

“Bv  heavens!  Barrington,  cried  one,  _ him 

shaped  boot  I ever  beheld ! I have  a good  mind 

the  other,  “you  must  ask  him 

who  shaped  his  legs,  that  you  ‘^y  ° booT?”^  ‘ 

-S'fu  !.•.«.  i™™- 

or  three  long  strides,  when  his  conlpamon  j 

pea:stbl\S/«“  »rrnd^- 

'"“fcnSmlnTr^rX^oo;  he  is  some 

warrantl  I care  nothing  aoout  his  foot  or  hrs  legs,  but  I should 

like  to  know  who  made  his  rlrap-p-ed  his  companior 

While  he  spoke  he  would  have  dragg 

!,-e%'Sbe1hrs”nbieS  oMlS'Slilogne)'  re.nr^ned  the  salnta 

tion  with  a cold  bend  oi  his  head.  haughty  de 

Where  I got  my  sword,  sir,  rep  nn  th 

and  rang  from-his  seat,  he  darted  ■'■f f ‘'I';  " 
coacombrand  walked  slowly  .down  fe  Md  . Surpnseo 

date. 


THADDEUS  OF  IFAESAIF. 


119 

This  incident  did  not  so  much  ruffle  the  temper  of  Thad- 
deus  as  it  amazed  and  perplexed  him. 

‘ffls  this  a specimen/'  though  he,  of  a nation  which  on 
the  Continent  is  venerated  for  courage,  manliness,  and  gener- 
osity ? Well,  I find  I have  much  to  learn.  I must  go  through 
the  ills  of  life  to  estimate  myself  thoroughly ; and  I must  study 
mankind  in  themselves,  and  not  in  reports  of  them,  to  have  a 
true  knowledge  of  what  they  are.” 

This  strange  rencontre  was  of  service  to  him,  by  diverting 
his  mind  from  the  intense  contemplation  of  his  situation  ; and  as 
the  dusk  drew  on,  he  turned  his  steps  towards  the  Hummums. 

On  entering  the  coffee-room,  he  was  met  by  the  obsequious 
Jenkins,  who,  being  told  by  Thaddeus  that  he  wanted  his  bag- 
gage and  a carriage,  went  for  the  things  himself,  and  sent  a 
boy  for  a coach. 

A man  dressed  in  black  was  standing  by  the  chimney,  and 
seemed  to  be  eyeing  Thaddeus,  as  he  walked  up  and  down  the 
room,  with  great  attention.  Just  as  he  had  taken  another  turn, 
and  so  drew  nearer  the  fireplace,  this  person  accosted  him 
rather  abruptly — 

“ Pray,  sir,  is  there  any  news  stirring  abroad  ? You  seem, 
sir,  to  come  from  abroad.” 

None  that  I know  of,  sir.” 

“ Bless  me,  that's  strange  ! 1 thought,  sir,  you  came  from 

abroad,  sir ; from  the  Continent,  from  Poland,  sir  ? at  least  the 
waiter  said  so,  sir.” 

Thaddeus  colored.  “ The  waiter,  sir  ? ” 

“ I mean,  sir,”  continued  the  gentleman,  visibly  confused 
at  the  dilemma  into  which  he  had  brought  himself,  “ the  waiter 
said  that  you  were  a count,  sir — a Polish  count ; indeed  the 
Count  Sobieski ! Hence  I concluded  that  you  are  from  Po- 
land. If  I have  offended,  I beg  pardon,  sir;  but  in  these 
times  we  are  anxious  for  every  intelligence.” 

Thaddeus  made  no  other  reply  than  a slight  inclination  of 
his  head,  and  walking  forward  to  see  whether  the  coach  had 
arrived,  he  thought,  whatever  travellers  had  related  of  the 
English,  they  were  the  most  impertinent  people  he  had  ever 
met  with. 

The  stranger  would  not  be  contented  with  what  he  had  al- 
ready said,  but  plucking  up  new  courage,  pursued  the  count  to 
the  glass  door  through  which  he  was  looking,  and  resumed  : 

“ I believe,  sir,  I am  not  wrong  ? You  are  the  Count 
Sobieski ; and  I have  the  honor  to  be  now  speaking  with  the 
bravest  champion  of  Polish  liberty  ! ” 


120 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


Thaddeus  again  bowed.  “ I thank  you,  sir,  for  the  compli- 
ment you  intend  me,  but  1 cannot  take  it  to  myself  \ all  the 
men  of  Poland,  old  and  young,  nobles  and  peasants,  were  her 
champions,  equally  sincere,  equally  brave.’’ 

Nothing  could  silence  the  inquisitive  stranger.  The  coach 
drew  up,  but  he  went  on  : 

‘‘  Then  I hope  that  many  of  these  patriots,  besides  your  ex- 
cellency, have  taken  care  to  bring  away  their  wealth  from  a 
land  which  they  must  now  see  is  abandoned  to  destruction  ? ” 

P"or  a moment  Thaddeus  forget  himself,  indignation  for  his 
country,  and  all  her  rights  and  all  her  sufferings  rose  in  his 
countenance. 

‘‘  No,  sir ! not  one  of  those  men,  and  least  of  all  would  I 
have  drawn  one  vital  drop  from  her  heart ! I left  in  her  mur- 
dered bo:  o n all  that  was  dear  to  me — all  that  I possessed  ; 
and  not  until  I saw  the  chains  brought  before  my  eyes  that 
were  to  lay  her  surviving  sons  in  irons  did  I turn  my  back  on 
calamities  I could  no  longer  avert  or  alleviate.” 

The  ardor  of  his  manner  and  the  elevation  of  his  voice  had 
drawti  the  attention  of  every  person  in  the  room  upon  him, 
when  Jenkins  entered  with  his  baggage.  The  door  being 
opened,  Sobieski  sprang  into  the  coach,  and  gladly  shut  him- 
self there,  from  a conversation  which  had  awakened  all  his 
griefs. 

“Ah,  poor  enthusiast!”  exclaimed  his  inquisitor,  as  the 
carriage  drove  off.  “ It  is  a pity  that  so  fine  a young  man 
should  have  made  so  ill  a use  of  his  birth,  and  other  natural 
advantages ! ” 

“ He  appears  to  me,”  observed  an  old  clergyman  who  sat 
in  an  adjoining  box,  to  have  made  the  best  possible  use  of  his 
natural  advantages  ; and  had  I a son,  I would  rather  hear  him 
utter  such  a sentiment  as  the  one  with  which  that  young  man 
quitted  the  room,  than  see  him  master  of  millions.” 

“ May  be  so,”  cried  the  questioner,  with  a contemptuous 
glance  ; “ ‘ different  minds  incline  to  different  objects  ! ” His 
has  decided  for  ‘ the  wonderful,  the  wild  ; ’ and  a pretty  finale 
he  has  made  of  his  choice  ! ” 

“Why,  to  be  sure,”  observed  another  spectator,  “young 
people  should  be  brought  up  with  reasonable  ideas  of  right  and 
wrong,  and  prudence  ; nevertheless,  I should  not  like  a son  of 
mine  to  run  harum-scarum  through  my  property,  and  his  own 
life  ; and  yet  one  cannot  help,  when  one  hears  such  a brave 
speech  as  that  from  yonder  Frenchman  just  gone  out, — I say 
one  cannot  help  thinking  it  very  fine.” 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


I2I 


‘‘True,  true,”  cried  the  inquisitor j “you  are  right,  sir; 
very  fine  indeed,  but  too  fine  to  wear ; it  would  soon  leave  us 
acreless,  as  it  has  done  him  ; for.  it  seems,  by  his  own  confes- 
sion, he  is  penniless  ; and  I know  that  a twelvemonth  ago  he  was 
an  heir  to  a fortune  which,  however  incalculable,  he  has  man- 
aged, with  all  his  talents,  to  see  the  end  of.” 

“ Then  he  is  in  distress  ! ” exclaimed  the  clergyman,  “ and 
you  know  him.  What  is  his  name  ? ” 

The  man  colored  at  this  unexpected  inference  ; and  glad 
the  company  had  not  attended  to  that  part  of  the  dialogue  in 
which  the  name  of  Sobieski  was  mentioned,  he  stammered  some 
indistinct  words,  took  up  his  hat,  and  looking  at  his  watch, 
begged  pardon,  having  an  appointment,  and  hurried  out  of  the 
room  without  speaking  further ; although  the  good  clergyman, 
whose  name  was  Blackmore,  hastened  after  him,  requesting  to 
know  where  the  young  foreigner  lived. 

“ Who  is  that  spectacled  coxcomb  } ” cried  the  reverend  doc- 
tor, as  he  returned  from  his  unavailing  application. 

“ I don’t  know,  sir,”  replied  the  waiter  ; “ I never  saw  him 
in  this  house  before  last  night,  when  he  came  in  late  to  sleep ; 
and  this  morning  he  was  in  the  coffee-room  at  breakfast,  just  as 
that  foreign  gentleman  walked  through  ; and  Jenkins  bawling  his 
name  out  very  loud,  as  goon  as  he  was  gone,  this  here  gentle- 
man asked  him  who  that  count  was.  I heard  Jenkins  say  some 
Russian  name,  and  tell  him  he  came  last  night,  and  would 
likely  come  back  again  ; and  so  that  there  gentleman  has  been 
loitering  about  all  day  till  now,  when  the  foreign  gentleman 
coming  in,  he  spoke  to  him.” 

“ And  don’t  you  know  anything  further  of  this  foreigner  ? ” 
“No,  sir;  I forget  what  he  is  called  ; but  I see  Jenkins 
going  across  the  street ; . hall  I run  after  him  and  ask  him  ? ” 
“You  are  very  obliging,”  returned  the  old  clergyman; 
“but  does  Jenkins  know  were  the  stranger  lives?  ” 

“ No,  sir;  I am  sure  he  don’t.” 

“I  am  sorry  for  it,”  sighed  the  kind  questioner;  “then 
your  inquiry  would  be  of  no  use ; his  name  will  not  do  without 
his  direction.  Poor  fellow  ! i-e  has  been  unfortunate,  and  I 
might  have  befriended  him.” 

“ Yes,  to  be  sure,  doctor,”  cried  the  first  speaker,  who  now 
rose  to  accompany  him  out ; “ it  is  our  duty  to  befriend  the  un- 
fortunate ; but  charity  begins  at  home ; and  as  all’s  for  the 
best,  perhaps  it  is  lucky  we  did  not  hear  any  more  about  this 
young  fellow.  We  might  have  involved  ourselves  in  a vast  deal 
of  unnecessary  trouble  ; and  you  know  people  from  outlandish 
parts  have  no  claims  upon  us.” 


122 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


Certainly/’  replied  the  doctor,  “ none  in  the  world,  except- 
ing those  which  no  human  creature  can  dispute, — the  claims  of 
nature.  All  mankind  are  born  heirs  of  suffering  ; and  as  joint 
inheritors,  if  we  do  not  wipe  away  each  other’s  tears,  it  will 
prove  but  a comfortless  portion.” 

“Ah  ! doctor,”  cried  his  companion,  as  they  separated  at 
the  end  of  Charles-street,  “ you  have  always  the  best  of  an 
argument : you  have  logic  and  Aristotle  at  your  finger  ends.” 

“ No,  my  friend ; my  arguments  are  purely  Christian. 
Nature  is  my  logic,  and  the  Bible  my  teacher.” 

“Ah,  there  you  have  me  again.  You  parsons  are  as  bad  as 
the  lawyers  ; when  once  you  get  a poor  sinner  amongst  you,  he 
finds  it  as  hard  to  get  out  of  the  church  as  out  of  chancery. 
However,  have  it  your  own  way  ; charity  is  your  trade,  and  I 
won’t  be  in  a hurry  to  dispute  the  monopoly.  Good-day ! If 
I stay  much  longer,  you  will  make  me  believe  that  black  is 
white.” 

Dr.  Blackmore  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  wishing  him 
good-evening,  returned  home,  pitying  the  worldliness  of  his 
friend’s  mind,  and  musing  on  the  interesting  stranger,  whom  he 
could  not  but  admire,  and  compassionate  with  a lively  sorrow, 
for  he  believed  him  to  be  a gentleman,  unhappy  and  unfortu- 
nate. Had  he  known  that  the  object  of  his  solicitude  was  the 
illustrious  subject  of  many  a former  eulogiumfrom  himself,  how 
increased  would  have  been  his  regret — tliat  he  had  seen  Count 
Thaddeus  Sobieski,  that  he  had  seen  him  an  exile,  and  that 
he  had  suffered  him  to  pass  out  of  the  reach  of  his  services  1 


CHAPTER  XHI. 

THE  exile’s  lodgings. 

]\i^ANWHiLE  the  homeless  Sobieski  was  cordially  received 
by  his  humble  landlady.  He  certainly  never  stood  in  more 
need  of  kindness.  A slow  fever,  which  had  been  gradually 
creeping  over  him  since  he  quitted  Poland,  soon  settled  on  his 
nerves,  and  reduced  him  to  such  weakness,  that  he  possessed 
neither  strength  nor  spirits  to  stir  abroad. 

Mrs.  Robson  was  sincerely  grieved  at  this  illness  of  her 
guest.  Her  own  son,  the  father  of  the  orphans  she  protected, 


THADDxiUS  OF  WARSAW. 


123 

had  died  of  consumption,  and  any  appearance  of  that  cruel 
disorder  was  a certain  call  upon  her  compassion. 

Thaddeus  gave  himself  up  to  her  management.  He  had  no 
money  for  medical  assistance,  and  to  please  her  he  took  what 
little  medicines  she  prepared.  According  to  her  advice,  he 
remained  for  several  days  shut  up  in  his  chamber,  with  a 
large  fire,  and  the  shutters  closed,  to  exclude  the  smallest  por- 
tion of  that  air- which  the  good  woman  thought  had  already 
stricken  him  with  death. 

But  all  would  not  do  ; her  patient  became  worse  and  worse. 
Frightened  at  the  symptoms,  Mrs.  Robson  begged  leave  to 
send  for  the  kind  apothecary  who  had  attended  her  deceased 
son.  In  this  instance  only  slie  found  the  count  obstinate  ; no 
arguments,  nor  even  tears,  could  move  him  to  assent.  When 
she  stood  weeping,  and  holding  his  burning  hand,  his  answer 
was  constantly  the  same. 

My  excellent  Mrs.  Robson,  do  not  grieve  on  my  account  ; 
I am  not  in  the  danger  you  think  ; I shall  do  very  well  with 
your  assistance.’’ 

“ No,  no  ; I see  death  in  your  eyes.  Can  I feel  this  hand  and 
see  that  hectic  cheek  without  beholding  your  grave,  as  it  were, 
opening  before  me  'i  ” 

She  was  not  much  mistaken  ; for  during  the  night  after  this 
debate  Thaddeus  grew  so  delirious  that,  no  longer  able  to  sub- 
due her  terrors,  she  sent  for  tl  c apothecary  to  *come  instantly 
to  her  house. 

‘‘  Oh,  doctor ! ” cried  she,  while  he  ascended  the  stairs,  “ I 
have  (he  best  young  gentleman  ever  the  sun  shone  on  dying  in 
that  room  ! He  would  not  let  me  send  for  you  ; and  now  he 
is  raving  like  a mad  creature.” 

Mr.  Vincent  entered  the  count’s  humble  apartment,  and  un- 
drew the  curtains  of  (1^3  bed.  Exhausted  by  delirium,  Thad- 
deus had  sunk  senseless  on  his  pillow.  At  this  sight,  suppos- 
ing him  dead,  Mrs.  Robson  uttered  a shriek,  which  was  echoed 
by  the  cries  of  the  little  William,  who  stood  near  his  grand 
mother. 

‘‘Hush!  my  good  w^oman,”  said  the  doctor;  “ the  gentle- 
man is  not  dead.  Leave  the  room  till  you  have  recovered 
yourself,  and  I will  engage  that  you  shall  see  him  alive  when 
you  return.” 

Blessing  these  words  she  quitted  the  room  with  her  grand- 
son. 

On  entering  the  chamber,  Mr.  Vincent  had  fell  that  its  hot 
and  stifling  atmosphere  must  augment  the  fever  of  his  patient; 


124 


THADDEUS  OE  JVAKSAIV, 


and  before  he  attempted  to  disturb  him  from  the  temporal y rest 
of  insensibility,  he  opened  the  window-shutters  and  also  the 
room-door  wide  enough  to  admit  the  air  from  the  adjoining 
apartment.  Pulling  the  heavy  clothes  from  the  counPs  bosom 
he  raised  his  head  on  his  arm  and  poured  some  drops  into  his 
mouth.  Sobieski  opened  his  eyes  and  uttered  a few  incoherent 
words ; but  he  did  not  rave,  he  only  wandered,  and  appeared 
to  know  that  he  did  so,  for  he  several  times  stopped  in  the 
midst  of  some  confused  speech,  and  laying  his  hand  on  his 
forehead,  strove  to  recollect  himself. 

Mrs.  Robson  soon  after  re-entered  the  room,  and  wept  out 
her  thanks  to  the  apothecary,  whom  she  revered  as  almost  a 
worker  of  miracles. 

I must  bleed  him,  Mrs.  Robson,”  continued  he  ; “ and  for 
that  purpose  shall  go  home  for  my  assistant  and  lancets  ; but 
in  the  meanwhile  I charge  you  to  let  every  thing  remain  in  the 
state  I have  left  it.  The  heat  alone  would  have  given  a fever 
to  a man  in  health.” 

When  the  apothecary  returned,  he  saw  that  his  commands 
had  been  strictly  obeyed  ; and  finding  that  the  change  of  at- 
mosphere had  wrought  the  expected  alteration  in  his  patient, 
he  took  his  arm  without  difficulty  and  bled  him.  At  the  end 
of  the  operation  Thaddeus  again  fainted. 

‘‘  Poor  gentleman  ! ” cried  Mr.  Vincent,  binding  up  the 
arm.  Look  here,  Tom,”  (pointing  to  iVc  scars,  on  the 
count’s  shoulder  and  breast:)  see  what  terrible  cuts  have 
been  here  ! This  has  not  been  playing  at  soldiers  ! Who  is 
your  lodger,  Mrs.  Robson  ? ” 

His  name  is  Constantine,  Mr.  Vincent ; but  for  Heaven’s 
sake  recover  him  from  that  swoon.” 

Mr.  Vincent  poured  more  drops  into  his  mouth ; and  a 
minute  afterwards  he  opened  his  eyes,  divested  of  their 
feverish  glare,  but  still  dull  and  heavy.  He  spoke  to  Mrs. 
Robson  by  her  name,  which  gave  her  such  delight,  that  she 
caught  his  hands  to  her  lips  and  burst  again  into  tears.  The 
action  was  so  abrupt  and  violent,  that  it  made  him  feel  the 
stiffness  of  his  arm.  Casting  his  eyes  towards  the  surgeon’s, 
he  conjectured  what  had  been  his  state,  and  what  the  conse- 
quence. 

“Come,  Mrs.  Robson,”  said  the  apothecary,  “you  must 
rot  disturb  the  gentleman.  How  do  you  find  yourself,  sir  ? ” 

As  the  deed  could  not  be  recalled,  Thaddeus  thanked  the 
doctor  for  the  service  he  had  received,  and  said  a few  kind 
and  grateful  words  to  his  good  hostess. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  125 

Mr.  Vincent  was  glad  to  see  so  promising  an  issue  to  his 
proceedings,  and  soon  after  retired  with  his  assistant  and  Mrs. 
Robson,  to  give  further  directions. 

On  entering  the  parlor,  she  threw  herself  into  a chair  and 
broke  into  a paroxysm  of  lamentations. 

My  good  woman,  what  is  all  this  about?'’  inquired  the 
doctor.  Is  not  my  patient  better  ? ” 

^‘Yes,”  cried  she,  drying  her  eyes;  but  the  whole  scene 
puts  me  so  in  mind  of  the  last  moments  of  my  poor  misguided 
son,  that  the  very  sight  of  it  goes  through  my  heart  like  a 
knife.  Oh  ! had  my  boy  been  as  good  as  that  dear  gentleman, 
had  he  been  as  well  prepared  to  die,  I think  I would  scarcely 
hare  grieved  ! Yet  Heaven  spare  Mr.  Constantine.  Will  he 
live?” 

“ I hope  so,  Mrs.  Robson.  His  fever  is  high  ; but  he  is 
young,  and  with  extreme  care  we  may  preserve  him.” 

‘‘  The  Lord  grant  it  1 ” cried  she,  ‘‘  for  he  is  the  best  gentle- 
man I ever  beheld.  He  has  been  above  a week  with  me  ; and 
till,  this  night,  in  which  he  lost  his  senses,  though  hardly  able 
to  breath  or  see,  he  has  read  out  of  books  which  he  brought 
wi  :h  him  ; and  good  books  too  : for  it  was  but  yesterday  morn- 
ing that  I saw  the  dear  soul  sitting  by  the  fire  with  a book  on 
the  table,  which  he  had  been  studying  for  an  hour.  As  I was 
dusting  about,  I saw  him  lay  his  head  down  on  it,  and  put  his 
hand  to  his  temples.  ‘Alas!  sir,’  said  1,  ‘you  tease  your 
brains  with  these  books  of  learning  when  you  ought  to  be 
taking  rest.’  ‘No,  Mrs.  Robson,’  returned,  he,  with  a sweet 
smile,  ‘ it  is  this  book  which  brings  me  rest.  I may  amuse 
myself  with  others,  but  this  alone  contains  perfect  beauty, 
perfect  wisdom,  and  perfect  peace.  It  is  the  only  infallible 
soother  of  human  sorrow^s.’  He  closed  it,  and  put  it  on  the 
chimney-piece  ; and  when  I looked  at  it  afterwards,  I found  it 
was  the  Bible.  Can  you  wonder  that  I should  love  so  excellent 
a gentleman  ? ” 

“You  have  given  a strange  account  of  him,”  replied  Vin- 
cent. “I  hope  he  is  not  a twaddler;*  if  so,  1 shall  despair 
of  his  cure,  and  think  his  delirium  had  another  cause  be- 
sides fever.” 

“I  don’t  understand  you,  sir.  He  is  a Christian,  and  as 
good  a reasonable,  sweet-tempered  gentleman  as  ever  came 
into  a house.  Alas ! I believe  he  is  most  likely  a papist  j 


A term  of  derision,  forty  years  ago,  amongst  unthinking  persons,  when  speaking  of 
eminently  religious  people. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


I 26 

though  they  say  papists  don’t  read  the  Bible,  but  worship 
images.” 

“ Why,  what  reason  have  you  to  suppose  that  ? He’s  an 
Englishman,  is  he  not  ?” 

'^No,  he  is  an  emigrant.” 

‘‘  An  emigrant ! Oh,  ho  ! ” cried  Mr.  Vincent,  with  a con- 
temptuous twirl  of  his  lip.  What,  a poor  Frenchman  ! Good 
Lord  ! how  this  town  is  overrun  with  these  fellows  ! ” 

No,  doctor,”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Robson,  greatly  hurt  at  this 
scorn  to  her  lodger,  whom  she  really  loved  ; “ whatever  he  be, 
he  is  not  poor,  for  he  has  a power  of  fine  things  ; he  has  got  a 
watch  all  over  diamonds,  and  diamond  rings,  and  diamond 
pictures  without  number.  So,  doctor,  you  need  not  fear  you 
are  attending  him  for  charity ; no,  I would  sell  my  gown  first.” 

‘‘  Nay,  don’t  be  offended,  Mrs.  Robson  ; I meant  no  offence,” 
returned  he,  much  mollified  by  this  explanation;  ‘‘but,  really, 
when  we  see  the  bread  that  should  Jeed  our  children  and  our 
own  poor  eaten  up  by  a, parcel  of  lazy  French  drones — all  Sans 
Culottes^  in  disguise,  for  aught  we  know,  who  cover  our  land, 
and  destroy  its  produce  like  a swarm  of  filthy  locusts — we 

should  be  fools  not  to  murmur.  But  Mr. , Mr.  , what 

do  you  call  him,  Mrs.  Robson  ? is  a different  sort  of  body.” 

“ Mr.  Constantine,”  replied  she,  “ and  indeed  he  is  ; and 
no  doubt,  when  you  recover  him,  he  will  pay  you  as  though  he 
were  in  his  own  country.” 

This  last  assertion  banished  all  remaining  suspicion  from 
the  mind  of  the  apothecary  ; and,  after  giving  the  good  woman 
what  orders  he  thought  requisite,  he  returned  home,  promising 
to  call  again  in  the  evening. 

Mrs.  Robson  went  up  stairs  to  the  count’s  chamber  with 
other  sentiments  to  her  sapient  doctor  than  those  with  which 
she  came  down.  She  well  recollected  the  substance  of  his 
discourse,  and  she  gathered  from  it  that,  however  clever  he 
might  be  in  his  profession,  he  was  a hard-hearted  man,  who 
would  rather  see  a fellow-creature  perish  than  administer  relief 
to  him  without  a reward.  She  had  paid  him  to  the  uttermost 
farthing  for  her  poor  son. 

But  here  Mrs.  Robson  was  mistaken.  She  did  him  justice 
in  esteeming  his  medical  abilities,  which  were  great.  He  had 
made  medicine  the  study  of  his  life,  and  not  allowing  any 
other  occupation  to  disturb  his  attention,  he  became  master  of 

* The  democratic  rabble  were  commonly  so  called  at  that  early  period  of  the  French 
Revolution  ; and  certainly  some  of  their  demagogues  did  cross  the  Channel  at  times,  coun- 
terfeiting themselves  to  be  loyal  emigrants,  while  assiduously  disseminating  their  destruc- 
tive principles  wherever  they  could  find  an  entrance. 


TH A DDE  US  OF  WARSAW. 


127 


that  science,  but  remained  ignorant  of  every  other  with  which 
it  had  no  connection.  He  was  the  father  of  a farnily,  and,  in 
the* usual  acceptation  of  the  term,  a very  good  sort  of  a man. 
He  preferred  his  country  to  every  other,  because  it  was  his 
country ; he  loved  his  wife  and  his  children ; he  was  kind  to 
the  poor,  to  whom  he  gave  his  advice  gratis,  and  letters  to  the 
dispensary  for  drugs  ; and  when  he  had  any  broken  victuals 
to  spare,  he  desired  that  they  might  be  divided  amongst  them  ; 
but  he  seldom  caught  his  maid  obeying  this  part  of  his  com- 
mands without  reprimanding  her  for  her  extravagance,  in  giving 
away  what  ought  to  be  eaten  in  the  kitchen  : ‘‘  in  these  times, 
it  was  a shame  to  waste  a crumb,  and  the  careless  hussy  would 
come  to  want  for  thinking  so  lightly  of  other  people’s  prop- 
erty.” 

Thus,  like  many  in  the.  world,  he  was  a loyal  citizen  by 
habit,  an  affectionate  father  from  nature,  and  a man  of  charity 
because  he  now  and  then  felt  pity,  and  now  and  then  heard  it 
preached  from  the  pulpit.  He  was  exhorted  to  be  pious,  and 
to  pour  wine  and  oil  into  the  wounds  of  his  neighbor ; but  it 
never  once  struck  him  that  piety  extended  further  than  going 
to  church,  mumbling  his  prayers  and  forgetting  the  sermon, 
through  most  of  which  he  generally  slept ; and  his  commen- 
taries on  the  good  Samaritan  were  not  more  extensive,  for  it 
was  so  difficult  to  make  him  comprehend  who  was  his  neighbor, 
that  the  subject  of  the  argument  might  have  been  sick,  dead 
and  buried  before  he  could  be  persuaded  that  he  or  she  had 
any  claims  on  his  care.  Indeed,  his  “ charity  began  at  home 
and  it  was  so  fond  of  its  residence,  that  it  stopped  there.  To 
have  been  born  on  the  other  side  of  the  British  Channel, 
spread  an  ocean  between  every  poor  foreigner  and  Mr.  Vincent’s 
purse  which  the  swiftest  wings  of  charity  could  never  cross. 
‘‘He  saw  no  reason,”  he  said,  “for  feedilig  the  natural  enemies 
of  our  country.  Would  any  man  be  mad  enough  to  take  the 
meat  from  his  children’s  mouths  and  throw  it  to  a swarm  of 
wolves  just  landed  on  the  coast  1 ” “These  wolves  ” were  his 
favorite  metaphor  when  he  spoke  of  the  unhappy  French,  or 
of  any  other  penniless  strangers  that  came  in  his  way. 

After  this  explanation,  it  may  appear  paradoxical  to  men- 
tion an  inconsistency  in  the  mind  of  Mr.  Vincent  which  never 
permitted  him  to  discover  the  above  Cainish  mark  of  outlawry 
upon  a wealthy  visitor,  of  whatever  country.  In  fact,  it  was 
with  him  as  with  many  ; riches  were  a splendid  and  thick  robe 
that  concealed  all  blemishes  ; take  it  away,  and  probably  the 
poor  stripped  wretch  would  be  treated  worse  than  a criminal. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


I 28 


That  his  new  patient  possessed  some  property  was  sufficient 
to  ensure  th*e  respect  and  medical  skill  of  Mr.  Vincent ; and 
when  he  entered  his  own  house,  he  told  his  wife  he  had  found 
a very  good  job  at  Mrs.  Robson’s,  in  the  illness  of  her  lodge! 
— a foreigner  of  some  sort,”  he  said,  ‘Svho,  by  her  account, 
had  feathered  his  nest  well  in  the  spoils  of  battle  (like  Moore’s 
honest  Irishman)  with  jewels  and  gold.”  So  much  for  the 
accuracy  of  most  quotations  adopted  according  to  the  con- 
venience of  the  speaker. 

When  the  Count  Sobieski  quitted  the  Hummums,  on  the 
evening  in  which  he  brought  away  his  baggage,  he  was  so,  dis- 
concerted by  the  impertinence  of  the  man  who  accosted  him 
tliere,  that  he  determined  not  to  expose  himself  to  a similar 
insult  by  retaining  a title  which  might  subject  him  to  the 
curiosity  of  the  insolent  and  insensible  ; and,  therefore,  when 
Mrs.  Robson  asked  him  how  she  should  address  him,  as  he 
was  averse  to  assume  a feigned  name,  he  merely  said  Mr.  Con- 
stantine. 

Under  that  unobtrusive  character,  he  hoped  in  time  to 
accommodate  his  feelings  to  the  change  of  fortune  which 
Providence  had  allotted  to  him.  He  must  forget  his  nobility, 
his  pride,  and  his  sensibility ; he  must  earn  his  subsistence. 
But  by  what  means  ? He  was  ignorant  of  business  ; and  he 
knew  not  how  to  turn  his  accomplishments  to  account.  Such 
were  his  meditations,  until  illness  and  delirium  deprived  him  of 
them  and  of  reason  together. 

At  the  expiration  of  a week,  in  which  Mr.  Vincent  attended 
his  patient  very  regularly,  Sobieski  was  able  to  remove  into  the, 
front  room  ; but  uneasiness  about  the  debts  he  had  so  uninten- 
tionally incurred  retarded  his  recovery,  and  made  his  hours 
pass  away  in  cheerless  musings  on  his  poor  means  of  repaying 
the  good  widow  and  of  satisfying  the  avidity  of  the  apothecary. 
Pecuniary  obligation  was  a load  to  which  he  was  unaccustomed  ; 
and  once  or  twice  the  wish  almost  escaped  his  heart  that  he 
had  died. 

Whenever  he  was  left  to  think,  such  were  his  reflections. 
Mrs.  Robson  discovered  that  he  appeared  more  feverish  and 
had  worse  nights  after  being  much  alone  during  the  day,  and 
therefore  contrived,  though  she  was  obliged  to  be  in  her  little 
shop,  to  leave  either  Nanny  to  attend  his  wants  or  little  William 
to  amuse  him. 

This  child,  by  its  uncommon  quickness  and  artless  manner, 
gained  upon  the  count,  who  was  ever  alive  to  helplessness  and 
innocence.  Children  and  animals  had  always  found  a friend 


THADDEVs  of  'wars a W.  j 

ana  protectoi*  in  him.  From  the  majestic  war-horse,  with  his 
neck  clothed  in  thunder,’^  to  the  poor  beetle  that  we  tread 
upon  every  creature  of  creation  met  an  advocate  of  mercy 
in  his  breast ; and  as  human  nature  is  prone  to  love  what  it  has 
been  kind  to,  Thaddeus  never  saw  either  children,  dogs,  or  even 
that  poor  slandered  and  abused  animal,  the  cat,  without  show- 
ing them  some  spontaneous  act  of  attention. 

Whatever  of  his  affections  he  could  spare  from  memory, 
the  count  lavished  upon  the  little  William.  The  child  hardly 
ever  left  his  side,  where  he  sat  on  a stool,  prattling  about  any- 
thing  that  came  into  his  head  j or,  seated  on  his  knee,  followed 
with  his  eyes  and  playful  fingers  the  hand  of  Thaddeus,  while 
I he  sketched  a horse  or  a soldier  for  his  prettv  companion. 

I 


I CHAPTER  XIV 

I A ROBBERY  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES. 

; By  these  means  Thaddeus  slowly  acquired  sufficient  strength 
To  allow  him  to  quit  his  dressing-gown,  and  prepare  for  a walk. 

A hard  frost  had  succeeded  to  the  chilling  damps  of  Novem- 
ber ; and  looking  out  of  the  window,  he  longed,  almost  eagerly, 
to  inhale  again  the  fresh  air.  After  some  tender  altercations 
with  Mrs.  Robson,  who  feared  to  trust  him  even  down  stairs, 
he  at  length  conquered  ; and  taking  the  little  William  by  his 
hand,  folded  his  pelisse  round  him,  and  promising  to  venture 
no  further  than  the  King's  Mews,  was  suffered  to  go  out. 

As  he  expected,  he  found  the  keen  breeze  act  like  a charm 
on  his  debilitated  frame  ; and  with  braced  nerves  and  exhila- 
rated spirits,  he  walked  twice  up  and  down  the  place,  whilst 
Ins  companion  played  before  him,  throwing  stones,  and  running 
[to  pick  them  up.  At  this  moment  one  of  the  king’s  carriages, 

^ pursued  by  a concourse  of  people,  suddenly  drove  in  at  the 
I Charmg-Cross  gate.  The  frightened  child  screamed,  and  fell. 

I Ihaddeus  darted  forward,  and  seizing  the  heads  of  the  horses 
which  were  within  a yard  of  the  boy,  stopped  them  ; mean- 
; while,  the  mob  gathering  about,  one  of  them  raised  William, 

I who  continued  his  cries.  The- count  now  let  go  the  reins,  and 
minutes  tried  to  pacify  his  little  charge  ; but  finding 
[that  his  alarm  and  shrieks  were  not  to  be  quelled,  and  that  his 


130 


THADDEUS  OF  IVARSAH\ 


own  figure,  from  its  singularity  of  dress,  (his  high  cap  and 
plume  adding  to  its  height,)  drew  on  him  the  whole  attention 
of  the  people,  he  took  the  trembling  child  in  his  arms,  and 
walking  through  the  Mews,  was  followed  by  some  of  the  by 
standers  to  the  very  door  of  Mrs.  Robson’s  shop. 

Seeing  the  people,  and  her  grandson  sobbing  on  the  breast 
of  her  guest,  she  ran  out,  and  hastily  asked  what  had  happened. 
Thaddeus  simply  answered,  that  the  child  had  been  frightened, 
But  when  they  entered  the  house,  and  he  had  thrown  himsell 
exhausted  on  a seat,  William,  as  he  stood  by  his  knee,  told  hi^ 
grandmother  that  if  Mr.  Constantine  had  not  stopped  the 
horses,  he  must  have  been  run  over.  The  count  was  now 
obliged  to  relate  the  whole  story,  which  ended  with  the  bless 
ings  of  the  poor  woman,  for  his  goodness  in  risking  his  owr 
life  for  the  preservation  of  her  darling  child. 

Thaddeus  in  vain  assured  her  the  action  deserved  nc 
thanks. 

Well,”  cried  she,  “ it  is  like  yourself,  Mr.  Constantine 
you  think  all  your  good  deeds  nothing  ; and  yet  any  odd  littk 
thing  I can  do,  out  of  pure  love  to  serve  you,  you  cry  up  to  tht 
skies.  However,  we  won’t  fall  out ; I say,  heaven  bless  you 
and  that  is  enough.  Has  your  walk  ' refreshed  you  ? But  ] 
need  not  ask  ; you  have  got  a fine  color,” 

“ Yes,”  returned  he,  rising  and  taking  off  his  cap  and  cloak 
“ it  has  put  me  in  aglow,  and  made  me  quite  another  creature.’ 
As  he  finished  speaking,  he  dropped  the  things  from  th( 
hand  that  held  them,  and  staggered  back  a few  paces  agains 
the  wall. 

“ Good  Lord ! what  is  the  matter  ? ” cried  Mrs.  Robson 
looking  in  his  face,  which  was  now  pale  as  death  ; “ what  is  th< 
matter  ? ” 

“ Nothing,  nothing,”  returned  he,  recovering  himself,  an( 
gathering  up  the  cloak  he  had  let  fall ; “don  t mind  me,  Mrs 
Robson  ; nothing  : ” and  he  was  leaving  the  kitchen,  but  sh* 
followed  him,  terrified  at  his  look  and  manner. 

“ Pray,  Mr.  Constantine  ! ” 

“Nay,  my  dear  madam,”  said  he,  leading  her  back,  “ I an 
not  well  ; I believe  my  walk  has  overcome  me.  Let  me  be  ; 
few  minutes  alone,  till  I have  recovered  myself.  It  will  oblig 
me.” 

“ Well,  sir,  as  you  please  ! ” and  then,  laying  her  withere( 
hand  fearfully  upon  his  arm,  “ forgive  me,  dear  sir,”  said  she 
“if  my  attentions  are  troublesome.  Indeed,  I fear  that  some 
times  great  love  appears  like  great  impertinence ; 1 woul( 


TH A DDE  US  OF  IVARSAIV. 


131 

^always  be  serving  you,  and  therefore  I often  forget  the  wide 
diiference  between  your  honoris  station  and  mine/’ 

The  count  could  only  press  her  hand  gratefully,  and  with  an 
emotion  which  made  him  hurry  up  stairs  to  hide.  When  in  his 
own  room,  he  shut  the  door,  and  cast  a wild  and  inquisitive 
^gaze  around  the  apartment;  then,  throwing  himself  into  a^hair, 
^he  struck  his  head  with  his  hand,  and  exclaimed,  It  is  gone ! 
! What  will  become  of  me  ? — of  this  poor  woman,  whose  substance 
H have  consumed  ? ” 

Is  It  was  true  ; the  watch,  by  the  sale  of  which  he  had  calculated 
to  defray  the  charges  of  his  illness,  was  indeed  lost.  A villain 
in  the  crowd,  having  perceived  the  sparkling  of  the  chain,  had 
^ taken  it  unobserved  from  his  side  ; and  he  knew  nothing  of  his 
f loss  until,  feeling  for  his  watch  to  see  the  hour,  he  discovered 
his  misfortune. 

The  shock  went  like  a stroke  of  electricity  through  his 
frame;  but  it  was  not  until  the  last  glimmering  of  hope  was 
extinguished,  on  examining  his  room  where  he  thought  he 
might  have  left  it,  that  he  saw  the  full  horror  of  his  situation. 
f;  He  sat  for  some  minutes,  absorbed,  and  almost  afraid  to 
£ think.  It  was  not  his  own,  but  the  necessities  of  the  poor 
woman,  who  had,  perhaps,  incurred  debts  on  herself  to  afford 
him  comforts,  which  bore  so  hard  upon  him.  At  last,  rising 
^from  his  seat,  he  exclaimed, 

“ I must  determine  on  something.  Since  this  is  gone,  I 
^must  seek  what  else  I have  to  part  with,  for  I cannot  long  bear 
my  present  feelings  ! ” 

He  opened  the  drawer  which  contained  his  few  valuables. 

With  a trembling  hand  he  took  them  out  one  by  one.  There 
were  several  trinkets  which  had  been  given  to  him  by  his  mother  ; 
and  a pair  of  inlaid  pistols,  which  his  grandfather  put  into  his 
belt  on  the  morning  of  the  dreadful  loth  of  October  ; his  niinia- 
I ture  lay  beneath  them:  the  mild  eyes  of  the  palatine  seemed 
beaming  with  affection  upon  his  grandson.  Thaddeus  snatched 
it  up,  kissed  it  fervently,  and  then  laid  it  back  into  the  drawer, 
whilst  he  hid  his  face  with  his  hands. 

When  he  recovered  himself,  he  replaced  the  pistols,  believ- 
I ing  that  it  would  be  sacrilege  to  part  with  them.  Without  al- 
lowing himself  time  to  think,  he  put  a gold  pencil-case  and  a 
pair  of  brilliant  sleeve-buttons  into  his  w^aistcoat  pocket. 

I’  He  descended  the  stairs  with  a soft  step,  and  passing  the 
^ kitchen-door  unperceived  by  his  landlady,  crossed  through  a 
little  court,  and  then  anxiously  looking  from  right  to  left,  in 
j' quest  of  some  shop  where  h^  might  probably  dispose  of  the 


132  tilADDEUS  OF  WARS  A tv. 

trinkets,  he  took  his  way  up  Castle  Street,  and  along  Leicesteif 
Square. 

When  he  turned  up  the  first  street  to  his  right,  he  was  im- 
peded by  two  persons  who  stood  in  his  path,  the  one  selling, 
the  other  buying  a hat.  The  thought  immediately  struck  Thad- 
deus  to  ask  one  of  these  men  (who  appeared  to  be  a Jew,  and 
a vender  of  clothes)  to  purchase  his  pelisse.  By  parting  with 
a thing  to  which  he  annexed  no  more  value  than  the  warrrUh  it 
afforded  him,  he  should  possibly  spare  himself  the  pain,  for  this 
time  at  least,  of  sacrificing  those  gifts  of  his  mother,  which  had 
been  bestowed  upon  him  in  happier  days,  and  hallowed  by  her 
caresses. 

He  did  not  permit  himself  to  hesitate,  but  desired  the  Jew 
to  follow  him  into  a neighboring  court.  The  man  obeyed  ; and 
having  no  ideas  independent  of  his  trade,  asked  the  count  what 
he  wanted  to  buy. 

“ Nothing  : I want  to  sell  this  pelisse,’’  returned  he,  open- 
ing it.  . 

The  Jew,  without  any  ceremony,  inspected  its  covering  and 
its  lining  of  fur. 

Ay,  I see  : black  cloth  and  sable  ; but  who  would  buy  it 
of  me  ? An  embroidered  collar  ! nobody  wears  such  things 
here.” 

‘‘  Then  I am  answered,”  replied  Thaddeus. 

‘‘Stop,  sir,”  cried  the  Jew,  pursuing  him,  “what  will  yoi 
take  for  it  ” 

“ What  would  you  give  me  } ” 

“ Let  me  see.  It  is  very  long  and  wide.  At  the  utmost  1 
cannot  offer  you  more  than  five  guineas.” 

A few  months  ago,  it  had  cost  the  count  a hundred  ; bui 
glad  to  get  any  money,  however  small,  he  readily  closed  witl 
the  man’s  price  ; and  taking  off  the  cloak,  gave  it  to  him,  anc 
put  the  guineas  into  his  pocket. 

He  had  not  walked  much  further  before  the  piercing  cole 
of  the  evening,  and  a shower  of  snow,  which  began  to  fall,  made 
him  feel  the  effects  of  his  loss  ; however,  that  did  not  anno} 
him  ; he  had  been  too  heavily  assailed  by  the  pitiless  rigors  o 
misfortune  to  regard  the  pelting  of  the  elements.  Whilst  the 
wind  blew  in  his  face,  and  the  sleet  falling  on  his  dress,  lodgec 
in  its  lappels,  he  went  forward,  calculating  whether  it  wen 
likely  that  this  money,  with  the  few  shillings  he  yet  possessed 
would  be  sufficient  to  discharge  what  he  owed.  Unused  as  h< 
had  been  to  all  kinds  of  expenditure  which  required  attention 
he  supposed,  from  what  he  had  already  seen  of  a commerce 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A IV. 


135 


with  the  world,  that  the  sum  he  had  received  from  the  Jew  was 
not  above  half  what  he  needed  ; and  with  a beating  heart  he 
walked  towards  one  of  those  shops  which  Mrs.  Robson  had  de- 
scribed, when  speaking  of  the  irregularities  of  her  son,  who  had 
nearly  reduced  her  to  beggary. 

: The  candles  were  lit.  And  as  he  hovered  about  the  door, 

he  distinctly  saw  the  master  through  the  glass,  assorting  some 
[parcels  on  the  counter.  He  was  a gentleman-like  man,  and  the 
'Count’s  feelings  took  quite  a different  turn  from  those  with 
>which  he  had  accosted  the  Jew,  who,  being  a low,  sordid  wretch, 
looked  upon  the  people  with  whom  he  trafficked  as  mere  purvey- 
ors to  his  profit.  Thaddeus  felt  little  repugnance  at  bargaining 
with  him  : but  the  sight  of  a respectable  person,  before  whom 
he  was  to  present  himself  as  a man  in  poverty,  as  one  who,  in  a 
manner,  appealed  to  charity,  all  at  once  overcame  the  resolu- 
tion of  a son  of  Sobieski,  and  he  debated  whether  or  not  he 
[should  return.  Mrs.  Robson,  and  her  probable  distresses,  rose 
before  him  ; and  fearful  of  trusting  his  pride  any  further,  he 
pulled  his  cap  over  his  face,  and  entered  the  shop. 

The  man  bowed  very  civilly  on  his  entrance,  and  requested 
to  be  honored  with  his  commands.  Thaddeus  felt  his  face 
'.glow  ; but  indignant  at  his  own  weakness,  he  laid  the  gold  case 
on  the  counter,  and  said,  in  a voice  which,  notwithstanding  his 
I emotion,  he  constrained  to  be  without  appearance  of  confusion, 
I want  to  part  with  this.” 

‘ Astonished  at  the  dignity  of  the  applicant’s  air,  and  the  no- 
bility of  his  dress,  (for  the  star  did  not  escape  the  shop-keeper’s 
I eye),  he  looked  at  him  for  a moment,  holding  the  case  in  his 
hand.  Hurt  by  the  steadiness  of  his  gaze,  the  count,  rather 
. haughtily,  repeated  what  he  had  said.  The  man  hesitated  no 
I longer.  He  had  been  accustomed  to  similar  requests  from  the 
Immigrant  French  ;/  RIesse  \ but  there  was  a loftiness  and  aspect 
j3f  authority  ia  the  countenance  and  mien  of  this  person  which 
jhurprised  and  awed  him  ; and  with  a respect  which  even  the 
Application  could  not  counteract,  he  opened  the  case,  and  in- 
: [juired  of  Thaddeus  what  was  the  price  he  affixed  to  it. 

!'  I leave  that  to  you,”  replied  he. 

; “ The  gold  is  pure,”  returned  the  man,  “ but  it  is  very  thin  ; 

;ld  cannot  give  more  than  three  guineas.  Though  the  workman- 
I >hip  is  fine,  it  is  not  in  the  fashion  of  England,  and  will  be  of 
I 10  benefit  to  me  till  melted.” 

|r  You  may  have  it,”  said  Thaddeus,  hardly  able  to  articu- 
late, while  the  gift  of  his  mother  was  passing  into  a stranger’s 
baand. 


»34 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


The  man  directly  paid  him  down  the  money,  and  the  count, 
with  a bursting  heart,  darted  out  of  the  shop. 

Mrs.  Robson  was  shutting  up  the  windows  of  her  little  par- 
lor, when  he  hastily  passed  her  and  glided  up  the  stairs. 
Hardly  believing  her  senses,  she  hastened  after  him,  and  just 
got  into  the  room  as  he  drank  off  a glass  of  water. 

“ Good  lack  ! sir,*’  where  has  your  honor  been  ? I thought 
you  were  all  the  while  in  the  house,  and  I would  not  come  near, 
though  I was  very  uneasy ; and  there  has  been  poor  William 
crying  himself  blind,  because  you  desired  to  be  left  alone.”  ^ 

Thaddeus  was  unprepared  to  make  an  answer.  He  was  in 
hopes  to  have  gotten  in  as  he  had  stolen  out,  undiscovered ; for 
he  determined  not  to  agitate  her  too  kind  mind  by  the  history 
of  his  loss.  He  would  not  allow  her  to  know  anything  of  his 
embarrassments,  from  a sentiment  of  justice,  as  well  as  from 
that  sensitive  pride  which  all  his  sufferings  and  philosophy 
could  not  wholly  subdue. 

I have  been  taking  a walk,  Mrs.  Robson.” 

Dear  heart ! I thought  when  you  staggered  back,  and 
looked  so  ill,  after  you  brought  in  William,  you  ha^  over- 
walked yourself.” 

“No  ; I fancy  my  fears  had  a little  discomposed  me;  and 
I hoped  that  more  air  might  do  me  good  ; I tried  it,  and  it 
has : but  I am  grieved  for  having  alarmed  you.” 

This  ambiguous  speech  satisfied  his  worthy  landlady  ; and, 
fatigued  by  a bodily  exertion,  which,  in  the  present  feeble  state 
of  his  frame,  nothing  less  than  the  resolution  of  his  mind  could 
have  carried  him  through,  Thaddeus  went  directly  to  bed, 
where  tired  nature  soon  found  temporary  repose  in  a profound 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  widow’s  family. 

Next  morning  Sobieski  found  himself  rather  better  than 
worse  by  the  exertions  of  the  preceding  day.  When  Nanny 
appeared  as  usual  with  his  breakfast  and  little  William,  (who 
alwa3^s  sat  on  his  knee,  and  shared  his  bread  and  butter,)  the 
count  desired  her  to  request  her  grandmother  to  send  to  Mr. 
Vincent  with  his  compliments,  and  to  say  her  lodger  felt  him- 


TffADDEUS  OF  IVARSAW. 


135 

self  so  much  recovered  as  to  decline  any  further  medical  aid, 
and  therefore  wished  to  have  his  bill. 

Mrs.  Robson,  who  could  not  forget  the  behavior  of  the 
apothecary,  undertook  to  deliver  the  message  herself,  happy  in 
the  triumph  she  should  enjoy  over  the  littleness  of  Mr.  Vin 
cent’s  suspicions. 

After  the  lapse  of  a quarter  of  an  hour,  she  re-appeared  in 
the  count’s  rooms,  accompanied  by  the  apothecary’s  assistant, 
who,  with  many  thanks,  received  the  sum  total  of  the  account, 
which  amounted  to  three  guineas  for  ten  days’  attendance. 

The  man  having  withdrawn,  Thaddeus  told  Mrs.  Robson, 
he  should  next  defray  the  smallest  part  of  the  vast  debt  he 
must  ever  owe  to  her  parental  care. 

“ Oh,  bless  your  honor,  it  goes  to  my  heart  to  take  a far 
thing  of  you  ! but  these  poor  children,”  cried  she,  laying  a hand 
on  each,  and  her  eyes  glistening,  they  look  up  to  me  as  their 
all  here  ; and  my  quarter-day  was  yesterday,  else,  dear  sir,  1 
should  scorn  to  be  like  Doctor  Vincent,  and  take  your  money 
the  moment  you  offer  it.” 

“ My  good  madam,”  returned  Sobieski,  giving  her  a chair, 
I am  sensible  of  your  kindness  : but  it  is  your  just  due  ; and 
the  payment  of  it  can  never  lessen  your  claim  on  my  gratitude 
for  the  maternal  care  with  which  you  have  attended  me,  a total 
stranger.” 

“ Then,  there,  sir,”  said  she,  looking  almost  as  ashamed  as 
if  she  were  robbing  him,  when  she  laid  it  on  the  table ; ‘‘  there 
is  my  bill.  I have  regularly  set  down  everything.  Nanny  will 
bring  it  to  me.”  And  quite  disconcerted,  the  good  woman 
hurried  out  of  the  room. 

Thaddeus  looked  after  her  with  reverence. 

“ There  goes,”  thought  he,  “ in  that  lowly  and  feeble  frame, 
as  generous  and  noble  a spirit  as  ever  animated  the  breast  of 
a princess!  “Here,  Nanny,”  said  he,  glancing  his  eye  over 
the  paper,  “ there  is  the  gold,  with  my  thanks ; and  tell  your 
grandmother  I am  astonished  at  her  economy.” 

This  affair  over,  the  count  was  relieved  of  a grievous  load  ; 
and  turning  the  remaining  money  in  his  hand,  how  he  might 
» ‘replenish  the  little  stock  before  it  were  expended  next  occupied 
I his  attention.  Notwithstanding  the  pawnbroker’s  civil  treat- 
ment, he  recoiled  at  again  presenting  himself  at  his  shop.  Be- 
sides, should  he  dispose  of  all  that  he  possessed,  it  might  not 
be  of  sufficient  value  here  to  subsist  him  a month.  He  must 
think  of  some  source  within  himself  that  was  not  likely  to  be 
so  soon  exhausted.  To  be  reduced  a second  time  to  the  misery 


THADDEUS  OF  IVARSA  W. 


136 

which  he  had  endured  yesterday  from  suspense  and  wretched- 
ness, appeared  too  dreadful  to  be  hazarded,  and  he  ran  over  in 
his  memory  the  different  merits  of  his  several  accomplishments. 

He  could  not  make  any  use  of  his  musical  talents  j for  at 
public  exhibitions  of  himself  his  soul  revolted ; and  as  to  his 
literary  acquirements,  his  youth,  and  being  a foreigner,  pre- 
cluded all  hopes  on  that  head.  At  length  he  found  that  his 
sole  dependence  must  rest  on  his  talents  for  painting.  Of  this 
art  he  had  always  been  remarkably  fond ; and  his  taste  easily 
perceived  that  there  were  many  drawings  exhibited  for  sale 
much  inferior  to  those  which  he  had  executed  for  mere  amuse- 
ment. 

He  decided  at  once  ; and  purchasing,  by  the  means  of 
Nanny,  pencils  and  Indian  ink,  he  set  to  work. 

When  he  had  finished  half-a-dozen  drawings,  and  was  con- 
sidering how  he  might  find  the  street  in  which  he  had  seen  the 
print-shops,  the  recollection  occurred  to  him  of  the  impression 
his  appearance  had  made  on  the  pawnbroker.  He  perceived 
the  wide  difference  between  his  apparel  and  the  fashion  of 
England  ; and  considering  the  security  from  impertinence  with 
which  he  might  walk  about,  could  he  so  far  cast  off  the  relics 
of  his  former  rank  as  to  change  his  dress,  he  rose  up  with  an 
intention  to  go  out  and  purchase  a surtout  coat  and  a hat  for 
that  purpose,  when  catching  an  accidental  view  of  his  uniform, 
with  the  star  of  St.  Stanislaus  on  its  breast,  as  he  passed  the 
glass,  he  no  longer  wondered  at  the  curiosity  which  such  an 
appendage,  united  with  poverty,  had  attracted.  Rather  than 
again  subject  himself  to  a similar  situation,  he  summoned  his 
young  messenger  i and,  by  her  assistance,  furnished  himself 
with  an  English  hat  and  coat,  whilst  with  his  penknife  he  cut, 
away  the  embroidery  of  the  order  from  the  cloth  to  which  it 
was  affixed. 

Thus  accoutred,  with  his  hat  flapped  over  his  face  and  his 
great-coat  wrapped  round  him,  he  put  the  drawings  into  his 
bosom,  and  about  eight  o’clock  in  the  evening  walked  out  on 
his  disagreeable  errand.  After  some  wearying  search,  he  at 
last  found  Great  Newport  Street,  tl.e  place  he  wanted  ; but  as 
he  advanced,  his  hopes  died  away,  and  hi^  fears  and  reluctancej 
re-awakened.  He  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  nearest  print- 
shop.  All  that  he  had  suffered  at  the  pawnbroker’s  assailed 
him  with  redoubled  violence.  What  he  presented  there  pos- 
sessed a fixed  value,  and  was  at  once  to  be  taken  or  refused  1 
but  now  he  was  going  to  offer  things  of  mere  taste,  and  he. 
might  meet  not  only  with  a denial,  but  affronting  remarks. 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


137 

He  walked  to  the  threshold  of  the  door,  then  as  hastily 
withdrew,  and  hurried  two  or  three  paces  down  the  street. 

Weak,  contemptible  that  I am  ! said  he  to  himself,  as 
he  again  turned  round  ; ‘‘  where  is  all  my  reason,  and  rectitude 
of  principle,  that  I would  rather  endure  the  misery  of  depend- 
ence and  self-reproach  than  dare  the  attempt  to  seek  support 
from  the  fruits  of  my  own  industry  ? 

He  quickened  his  step  and  started  into  the  shop,  almost 
fearful  of  his  former  irresolution.  He  threw  his  drawings  in- 
stantly upon  the  counter. 

Sir,  you  purchase  drawings.  I have  these  to  sell.  Will 
they  suit  you  ? ” 

The  man  took  them  up  without  deigning  to  look  at  the  per- 
son who  had  accosted  him,  and  turning  them  over  in  his  hand, 
‘‘  One,  two,  three,  hum  ; there  is  half-a-dozen.  What  do  you 
expect  for  them  ? 

‘‘  I am  not  acquaiiied  with  the  prices  of  these  things.” 

The  printseller,  hearing  this,  thought,  by  managing  well,  to 
get  them  for  what  he  liked,  and  throwing  them  over  with  an 
air  of  contempt,  resumed — 

“ And  pray,  where  may  the  views  be  taken  ? ” 

They  are  recollections  of  scenes  in  Germany.” 

Ah  ! ” replied  the  man,  mere  drugs  ! 1 wish,  hones! 

friend,  you  could  have  brought  subjects  not  quite  so  thread^ 
bare,  and  a little  better  executed  ; they  are  but  poor  things ! 
But  every  dauber  nowadays  sets  up  for  a fine  artist,  and  thinks 
we  are  to  pay  him  for  spoilt  paper  aird  conceit.” 

Insulted  by  this  speech,  and,  above  all,  by  the  manner  of 
the  printseller,  Thaddeus  was  snatching  up  the  drawings  to 
leave  the  shop  without  a word,  when  the  man,  observing  his 
design,  and  afraid  to  lose  them,  laid  his  hand  on  the  heap, 
exclaiming — 

“ Let  me  tell  you,  young  man,  it  does  not  become  a person 
in  your  situation  to  be  so  huffy  to  his  employers.  I will  give 
you  a guinea  for  the  six,  and  you  may  think  yourself  well  paid.” 

Without  further  hesitation,  wliilst  the  count  was  striving  to 
subdue  the  choler  which  urged  him  to  knock  him  down,  the  man 
laid  the  gold  on  the  counter,  and  was  slipping  the  drawings  into 
a drawer ; but  Thaddeus,  snatching  them  out  again,  suddenly 
rolled  them  up,  and  walked  out  of  the  shop  as  he  said — 

‘‘  Not  all  the  money  of  all  your  tribe  should  tempt  an  honest 
man  to  pollute  himself  by  exchanging  a second  word  with  one 
so  contemptible.” 

Irritated  at  this  unfeeling  treatment,  he  returned  home,  too 


'in A JR  Us  OF  rVARSAlV. 


much  provo1^>3d  to  think  of  the  consequences  which  might  fol- 
low a similar  disappointment. 

Having  become  used  to  the  fluctuations  of  his  looks  and 
behavior,  the  widow  ceased  altogether  to  tease  him  with  inqui- 
ries, which  she  saw  he  was  sometimes  loath  to  answer.  She 
now  allowed  him  to  walk  in  and  out  without  a remark,  and 
silently  contemplated  his  pale  and  melancholy  countenance, 
when,  after  a ramble  of  the  greatest  part  of  the  day,  he  re- 
turned home  exhausted  and  dispirited. 

William  was  always  the  first  to  welcome  his  friend  at  the 
threshold,  by  running  to  him,  taking  hold  of  his  coat,  and  ask- 
ing to  go  with  him  up  stairs.  The  count  usually  gratified  him, 
and  brightened  many  dull  hours  with  his  innocent  caresses. 

This  child  was  literally  his  only  earthly  comfort ; for  he  saw 
that  in  him  he  could  still  excite  those  emotions  of  happiness 
which  had  once  afforded  him  his  sweetest  joy.  William  ever 
greeted  him  with  smiles,  and  when  he  entered  the  kitchen, 
sprang  to  his  bosom,  as  if  that  ’^^ere  the  seat  of  peace,  as  it 
was  of  virtue.  But,  alas  ! fate  seemed  adverse  to  lend  any- 
thing long  to  the  unhappy  Thaddeus  which  might  render  his 
desolate  state  more  tolerable. 

Just  risen  from  a bed  of  sickness,  he  required  the  hand  of 
some  tender  nurse  to  restore  his  wasted  vigor,  instead  of 
being  reduced  to  the  hard  vigils  of  poverty  and  want.  His 
recent  disappointment,  added  to  a cold  which  he  had  caught, 
increased  his  feverish  debility  ; yet  he  adhered  to  the  determina- 
' tion  not|to  appropriate  to  his  own  subsistence  the  few  valuables 
he  had  assigned  as  a deposit  for  the  charges  of  his  rent.  Dur- 
ing a fortnight  he  never  tasted  anything  better  than  bread  and 
water ; but  this  hermit’s  fare  was  accompanied  by  the  resigned 
thought  that  if  it  ended  in  death,  his  sufferings  would  then  be 
over,  and  the  widow  amply  remunerated  by  what  little  of  his 
property  remained. 

In  this  state  of  body  and  mind  he  received  a most  painful 
shock,  when  one  evening,  returning  from  a walk  of  many  hours, 
tn  the  place  of  his  little  favorite,  he  met  Mrs.  Robson  in  tears 
at  the  door.  She  told  him  William  had  been  sickening  all  the 
. day,  and  was  now  so  delirious,  that  neither  she  nor  his  sister 
could  keep  him  quiet. 

Thaddeus  went  to  the  side  of  the  child’s  bed,  where  he  lay 
gasping  on  the  pillow,  held  down  by  the  crying  Nanny.  The 
count  touched  his  cheek. 

“ Poor  child  ! ” exclaimed  he  ; ‘‘  he  is  in  a high  fever.  Have 
you  sent  for  Mr.  Vincent  ? ” 


TffADDEUS  OF  WARSAW 


139 


“ O,  no  ; I had  not  the  heart  to  leave  him.'^ 

Then  I will  go  directly/’  returned  Thaddeus ; ‘‘there  is 
not  a moment  to  be  lost.” 

The  poor  woman  thanked  him.  Hastening  through  the 
streets  with  an  eagerness  which  nearly  overset  several  of  the 
foot-passengers,  he  arrived  at  Lincoln’s-Inn-fields  ; and  in  less 
than  five  minutes  after  he  quitted  Mrs.  Robson’s  door  he  re- 
turned with  the  apothecary. 

On  Mr.  Vincent’s  examining  the  pulse  and  countenance  of 
his  little  patient,  he  declared  the  symptoms  to  be  the  small-pox, 
which  some  casualty  had  repelled. 

In  a paroxysm  of  distress,  Mrs.  Robson  recollected  that  a 
girl  had  been  brought  into  her  shop  three  days  ago,  just  re- 
covered from  that  frightful  malady. 

Thaddeus  tried  to  subdue  the  fears  of  the  grandmother,  and 
at  last  succeeded  in  persuading  her  to  go  to  bed,  whilst  he  and 
Nanny  would  watch  by  the  pillow  of  the  invalid. 

Towards  morning  the  disorder  broke  out  on  the  child’s  face, 
and  he  recovered  his  recollection.  The  moment  he  fixed  his 
eyes  on  the  count,  who  was  leaning  over  him,  he  stretched  out 
his  little  arms,  and  begged  to  lie  on  his  breast.  Thaddeus  re- 
fused him  gently,  fearing  that  by  any  change  of  position  he 
might  catch  cold,  and  so  again  retard  what  had  now  so  fortu- 
nately appe'hred  ; but  the  poor  child  thought  the  denial  unkind, 
and  began  to  weep  so  violently,  that  his  anxious  friend  believed 
it  better  to  gratify  him  than  hazard  the  irritation  of  his  fever 
by  agitation  and  crying. 

Thaddeus  took  him  out  of  bed,  and  rolling  him  in  one  of 
the  blankets,  laid  him  in  his  bosom  ; and  drawing  his  dressing- 
gown  to  shield  the  little  face  from  the  fire,  held  him  in  that 
situation  asleep  for  nearly  two  hours. 

When  Mrs.  Robson  came  down  stairs  at  six  o’clock  in  the 
morning,  she  kissed  the  hand  of  the  count  as  he  sustained  her 
grandson  in  his  arms  ; and  almost  speechless  with  gratitude  to 
him,  and  solicitude  for  the  child,  waited  the  arrival  of  the 
apothecary. 

On  his  second  visit,  he  said  a few  words  to  her  of  comfort, 
but  whispered  to  the  count,  while  softly  feeling  William’s  pulse, 
that  nothing  short  of  the  strictest  care  could  save  the  boy,  the 
infection  he  had  received  having  been  of  the  most  malignant 
kind. 

These  words  fell  like  an  unrepealable  sentence  on  the  heart 
of  Thaddeus.  Looking  on  the  discolored  features  of  the  pa- 
tient infant,  he  fancied  that  he  already  beheld  its  clay-cold  face, 


140 


THADDEUS  OF  WAESA  IV. 


and  its  little  limbs  stretched  in  death.  The  idea  was  bitteHiCss 
to  him  ; and  pressing  the  boy  to  his  breast,  he  resolved  that  no 
attention  should  be  wanting  on  his  part  to  preserve  him  from 
the  grave.  And  he  kept  his  promise. 

From  that  hour  until  the  day  in  which  the  poor  babe  ex- 
pired in  his  arms,  he  never  laid  him  out  of  them  for  ten  minutes 
together  ; and  when  he  did  breathe  his  last  sigh,  and  raised  up 
his  little  eyes,  Thaddeus  met  their  dying  glance  with  a pang 
which  he  thought  his  soul  had  long  lost  the  power  to  feel.  His 
heart  seemed  to  stop ; and  covering  the  motionless  face  of  the 
dead  child  with  his  hand,  he  made  a sign  to  Nanny  to  leave  the 
room. 

The  girl,  who  from  respect  had  been  accustomed  to  obey 
his  slightest  nod,  went  to  her  g'randmother  in  the  shop. 

The  instant  the  girl  quitted  the  room,  with  mingled  awe  and 
grief  the  count  lifted  the  little  corpse  from  his  knee  ; and  with- 
out allowing  himself  to  cast  another  glance  on  the  face  of  the 
poor  infant,  now  released  from  suffering,  he  put  it  on  the  bed, 
and  throwing  the  sheet  over  it,  sunk  into  a chair  and  burst  into 
tears. 

The  entrance  of  Mrs.  Robson  in  some  measure  restored 
him  ; for  the  moment  she  perceived  her  guest  with  his  handker- 
chief over  his  eyes,  she  judged  what  had  happened,  and,  with 
a piercing  scream,  flew  forward  to  the  bed,  where,  pulling  down 
the  covering,  she  uttered  another  shriek,  and  must  have  fallen 
on  the  floor  had  not  Thaddeus  and  little  Nanny,  who  ran  in  at 
her  cries,  caught  her  in  their  arms  and  bore  her  to  a chair. 

Her  soul  was  too  much  agitated  to  allow  her  to  continue 
long  in  a state  of  insensibility ; and  when  she  recovered,  she 
would  again  have  approached  the  deceased  child,  but  the  count 
withheld  her,  and  trying  by  every  means  in  his  power  to  soothe 
her,  so  far  succeeded  as  to  melt  her  agonies  into  tears. 

Whilst  she  concealed  her  venerable  head  in  the  bosom  of 
her  granddaughter,  he  once  more  lifted  the  remains  of  the  little 
William ; and  thinking  it  best  for  the  tranquillity  of  the  un- 
happy grandmother  to  take  him  out  of  her  sight,  he  carried 
him  up  stairs,  and  laid  him  on  his  own  bed. 

By  the  time  he  returned  to  the  humble  parlor,  one  of  the 
female  neighbors,  having  heard  the  unusual  outcry,  and  -sus- 
pecting the  cause,  kindly  stepped  in  to  offer  her  consolation 
and  services.  Mrs.  Robson  could  only  reply  by  sobs,  which 
were  answered  by  the  loud  weephig  of  poor  Nanny,  who  lay 
with  her  head  against  the  table. 

When  the  count  came  down,  he  thanked  the  worthy  woman 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


141 

for  her  benevolent  intentions,  and  took  her  up  stairs  into  his 
apartments.  Pointing  to  the  open  door  of  the  bedroom, 
“ There,  madam,’’  said  he,  “ you  will  find  the  remains  of  my 
dear  little  friend.  I beg  you  will  direct  everything  for  his  in- 
terment that  you  think  will  give  satisfaction  to  Mrs.  Robson. 

I would  spare  that  excellent  woman  every  pang  in  my  power.” 

All  was  done  according  to  his  desire  ; and  Mrs.  Watts,  the 
charitable  neighbor,  excited  by  a kindly  disposition,  and  rever- 
ence for  “the  extraordinary  young  gentleman  who  lodged  with 
her  friend,”  performed  her  task  with  tenderness  and  activity. 

“ Oh  !*  sir,”  cried  Mrs.  Robson,  weeping  afresh  as.  she  en- 
tered the  count’s  room,  “ Oh,  sir,  how  shall  I ever  repay  all 
your  goodness  ? and  Mrs.  Watt’s  ? She  has  acted  like  a sister 
to  me.  But,  indeed,  I am  yet  the  most  miserable  creature 
that  lives.  I have  lost  my  dearest  child,  and  must  strip  his 
poor  sister  of  her  daily  bread  to  bury  him.  That  cruel  Dr. 
Vincent,  though  he  might  have  imagined  my  distress,  sent  his 
account  late  last  night,  saying  he  wanted  to  make  up  a large 
bill,  and  he  wished  I would  let  him  have  all,  or  part  of  the  pay- 
ment. Heaven  knows,  I have  not  a farthing  in  the  house  ; but 
I will  send  poor  little  Nanny  to  pawn  my  silver  spoons,  for, 
alas  ! I have  no  other  means  of  satisfying  the  cruel  man.” 

“ Rapacious  wretch  ! ” cried  Thaddeus,  rising  indignantly 
from  his  chair,  and  for  a moment  forgetting  how  incapable  he 
was  to  afford  relief : “ you  shall  not  be  indebted  one  instant  to 
his  mercy.  I will  pay  him.” 

The  words  had  passed  his  lips  ; he  could  not  retract,  though 
conviction  immediately  followed  that  he  had  not  the  means  ; 
and  he  would  not  have  retracted,  even  should  he  be  necessitated 
to  part  with  everything  he  most  valued. 

Mrs.  Robson  was  overwhelmed  by  this  generous  promise, 
which,  indeed,  saved  her  from  ruin.  Had  her  little  plate  been 
pledged,  it  could  not  have  covered  one  half  of  Mr.  Vincent’s 
demand,  who,  to  do  him  justice,  did  not  mean  to  cause  any  dis- 
tress. But  having  been  so  readily  paid  by  Thaddeus  for  his 
own  illness,  and  observing  his  great  care  and  affection  for  the 
deceased  child,  he  did  not  doubt  that,  rather  than  allow  Mrs. 
Robson  a minute’s  uneasiness,  her  lodger  would  defray  his  bill. 
So  far  he  calculated  right ; but  he  had  not  sufficient  sagacity  to 
foresee  that  in  getting  his  money  this  way,  he  should  lose  the 
future  business  of  Mrs.  Robson  and  her  friend. 

The  child  was  to  be  buried  on  the  morrow,  the  expenses  of 
which  event  Thaddeus  saw  he  must  discharge  also  ; and  he  had 
engaged  to  pay  Mr.  Vincent  that  night ! He  had  not  a shilling 


142 


TH ADD  BUS  OF  WARSAW. 


in  his  purse.  Over  and  over  he  contemplated  the  impractica- 
bility of  answering  these  debts;  yet  he  could  not  for  an  instant 
repent  of  what  he  had  undertaken;  he  thought  he  was  amply 
recompensed  for  bearing  so  heavy  a load  in  knowing  that  he  had 
taken  it  off  the  worn-down  heart  of  another. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  M O N E Y-E  E N D E R. 

Since  the  count’s  unmannerly  treatment  at  the  printseller’s, 
he  had  not  sufficiently  conquered  his  pride  to  attempt  an  appli- 
cation to  another.  Therefore,  he  had  no  prospect  of  collect- 
ing the  money  he  had  pledged  himself  to  Mrs.  Robson  to  pay 
but  by  selling  some  more  of  his  valuables  to  the  pawnbroker. 

F or  this  purpose  he  took  his  sabre,  his  pistols,  and  the  fated 
brilliants  he  had  brought  back  on  a similar  errand.  He  drew 
them  from  their  deposit,  with  less  feeling  of  sacrilege,  in  so  dis- 
posing of  such  relics  of  the  sacred  past,  than  he  had  felt  on  the 
former  occasion.  They  were  now  going  to  be  devoted  to  gra- 
titude and  benevolence — an  act  which  he  knew  his  parents, 
were  they  alive,  would  warmly  approve  ; and  here  he  allowed 
the  end  to  sanctify  the  means. 

About  half-past  six  in  the  evening,  he  prepared  himself  for 
the  task.  Whether  it  be  congenial  with  melancholy  to  seek  the 
gloom,  or  whether  the  count  found  himself  less  observed  under 
the  shades  of  night,  is  not  evident ; but  since  his  exile,  he  pre- 
ferred the  dusk  to  any  other  part  of  the  day. 

Before  he  went  out,  he  asked  Mrs.  Robson  for  Mr.  Vincent’s 
bill.  Sinking  with  obligation  and  shame,  she  put  it  into  his 
hand,  and  he  left  the  house.  When  he  approached  a lighted 
lamp,  he  opened  the  paper  to  see  the  amount,  and  finding  that 
it  was  almost  two  pounds,  he  hastened  forward  to  the  pawn- 
broker’s. 

The  man  was  in  the  shop  alone.  Thaddeus  thought  him- 
self fortunate  ; and,  after  subduing  a few  qualms,  entered  the 
door.  The  mome’nt  he  laid  his  sword  and  pistols  on  the  coun- 
ter, and  declared  his  wish,  the  man,  even  through  the  disguise 
of  a large  coat  and  slouched  hat,  recollected  him.  This  honest 
money-lender  carried  sentiments  in  his  breast  above  his  occu- 


THADDEVS  OF  tVAESAPV. 


143 


pation.  He  did  not  commiserate  all  who  presented  themselves 
before  him,  because  many  exhibited  too  evidently  the  excesses 
which  brought  them  to  his  shop.  But  there  was  something  in 
the  figure  and  manner  of  the  Count  Sobieski  which  had  struck 
him  at  first  sight,  and  by  continuing  to  possess  his  thoughts, 
had  excited  so  great  an  interest  towards  him  as  to  produce 
pleasure  with  regret,  when  he  discerned  the  noble  foreigner 
again  obliged  to  proffer  such  things. 

Mr.  Burket  (for  so  this  money-lender  was  called)  respect- 
fully asked  what  he  demanded  for  the  arms. 

‘‘  Perhaps  more  than  you  would  give.  But  I have  some- 
thing else  here,”  laying  down  the  diamonds;  “ I want  eight 
guineas.” 

Mr.  Burket  looked  at  them,  and  then  at  their  owner,  hesita- 
ted and  then  spoke. 

I beg  your  pardon,  sir  ; I hope  I shall  not  offend  you,  but 
these  things  appear  to  have  a value  independent  of  their  price  ; 
they  are  inlaid  with  crests  and  ciphers.” 

The  blood  flushed  over  the  cheeks  of  the  count.  He  had 
forgotten  this  circumstance.  Unable  to  answer,  he  waited  to 
hear  what  the  man  would  say  further. 

‘‘  I repeat,  sir,  I mean  not  to  offend  ; but  you  appear  a 
stranger  to  these  transactions.  I only  wish  to  suggest,  in  case 
you  should  ever  like -to  repossess  these  valuables — had  you  not 
better  pledge  them  } ” 

“ How  ? ” asked  Thaddeus,  irresolutely,  and  not  knowing 
what  to  think  of  the  man’s  manner. 

At  that  instant  some  other  people  came  into  the  shop  ; and 
Mr.  Burket,  gathering  up  the  diamonds  and  the  arms  in  his 
hand,  said,  “ If  you  do  not  object,  sir,  we  will  settle  this  business 
in  my  back-parlor.” 

The  delicacy  of  his  behavior  penetrated  the  mind  of  Thad- 
deus, and  without  demurring,  he  followed  him  into  a room. 
While  Mr.  Burket  offered  his  guest  a chair,  the  count  took  off 
his  hat  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  Burket  contemplated  the  sad- 
dened dignity  of  his  countenance  with  renewed  interest ; en- 
treating him  to  be  seated,  he  resumed  the  conversation. 

‘‘  I see,  sir,  you  do  not  understand  the  meaning  of  pledging, 
or  pawning,  for  it  is  one  and  the  same  thing ; but  I will  explain 
it  in  two  words.  If  you  leave  these  things  with  me,  I will  give 
you  a paper  in  acknowledgment,  and  lend  on  them  the  guineas 
you  request ; for  which  sum,  when  you  return  it  to  me  with  a 
stated  interest,  you  shall  have  your  deposit  in  exchange.” 

Sobieski  received  this  offer  with  pleasure  and  thanks.  He 


144 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAIV. 


had  entertained  no  idea  of  anything  more  being  meant  by  the 
trade  of  a pawnbroker  than  a man  who  bought  what  others 
wished  to  sell. 

“ Then,  sir,’’  continued  Burket,  opening  an  escrutoire,  “ I 
will  give  you  the  money,  and  write  the  paper  I spoke  of.” 

Just  as  he  put  his  hand  to  the  drawer,  he  heard  voices  in  an 
adjoining  passage  ; and  instantly  shutting  the  desk,  he  caught 
up  the  things  on  the  table,  threw  them  behind  a curtain,  and 
hastily  taking  the  count  by  the  hand,  said,  My  dear  sir,  do 
oblige  me,  and  step  into  that  closet ; you  will  find  a chair.  A 
person  is  coming,  whom  I will  dispatch  in  a few  seconds.” 

Thaddeus,  rather  surprised  at  such  hurry,  did  as  he  was  de- 
sired ; and  the  door  was  closed  on  him  just  as  the  parlor  door 
opened.  Being  aware  from  such  concealment  that  the  visitor 
came  on  secret  business,  he  found  his  situation  not  a little  awk- 
ward. Seated  behind  a curtained  window,  which  the  lights  in 
the  room  made  transparent,  he  could  not  avoid  seeing  as  well 
' as  hearing  everything  that  passed. 

“ My  dear  Mr.  Burket,”  cried  an  elegant  young  creature,  who 
ran  into  the  apartment,  positively  without  your  assistance,  I 
shall  be  undone.” 

‘‘Anything  in  my  power,  madam,”  returned  My.  Burket, 
with  a distant,  respectful  voice  ; “ will  your  ladyship  sit  down  ?” 

“ Yes  ; give  me  a chair.  I am  half  dead  with  distraction. 
Mr.  Burket,  I must  have  another  hundred  upon  those  jewels.” 

“ Indeed,  my  lady,  it  is  not  in  my  power ; you  have  already 
had  twelve  hundred  ; and,  upon  my  honor,  that  is  a hundred 
and  fifty  more  than  I ought  to  have  given.” 

“ Pshaw  ! who  minds  the  honor  of  a pawnbroker  ! ” cried 
the  lady,  laughing  ; “ you  know  very  well  you  live  by  cheat- 
ing.” 

“ Well,  ma’am,”  returned  he,  with  a good-natured  smile,  “ as 
your  ladyship  pleases.” 

“ Then  I please  that  you  let  me  have  another  hundred. 
Why,  man,  you  know  you  let  Mrs.  Hinchinbroke  two  thousand 
upon  a case  of  diamonds  not  a quarter  so  many  as  mine.” 

“But  consider,  madam  ; Mrs.  Hinchinbroke’s  were  of  the 
best  water.” 

“Positively,  Mr.  Burnet,”  exclaimed  her  ladyship,  purposely 
miscalling  his  name,  “ not  better  than  mine  ! The  King  of 
Sardinia  gave  them  to  Sir  Charles  when  he  knighted  him.  I 
know  mine  are  the  best,  and  I must  have  another  hundred. 
Upon  my  life,  my  servants  have  not  had  a guinea  of  board 
wages  these  four  months,  and  they  tell  me  they  are  starving. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


I4S 

Come,  make  haste,  Mr.  Burnet : you  cannot  expect  me  to  stay 
here  all  night ; give  me  the  money.’’ 

“ Indeed,  my  lady,  I cannot.” 

Heavens  ! what  a brute  of  a man  you  are  ! There,”  cried 
she,  taking  a string  of  pearls  from  her  neck,  and  throwing  it 
on  the  table  ; ‘‘  lend  me  some  of  your  trumpery  out  of  your 
shop,  for  I am  going  immediately  from  hence  to  take  the  Misses 
Dundas  to  the  opera ; so  give  me  the  hundred  on  that,  and  let 
me  go.” 

This  is  not  worth  a hundred.” 

“ What  a teasing  man  you  are  ! ” cried  her  ladyship,  an- 
grily. Well,  let  me  have  the  money  now,  and  I will  send 
you  the  bracelets  which  belong  to  the  necklace  to-morrow.” 

‘‘  Upon  those  conditions  I will  give  your  ladyship  another 
hundred.” 

‘‘  Oh,  do ; you  are  the  veriest  miser  I ever  met  with.  You 
are  worse  than  Shylock,  or, — Good  gracious  ! what  is  this  ? ” 
exclaimed  she,  interrupting  herself,  and  taking  up  the  draft  he 
had  laid  before  her  ; “ and  have  you  the  conscience  to  think, 
Mr.  Pawnbroker,  that  I will  offer  this  at  your  banker’s  ? that  I 
will  expose  myself  so  far  ? No,  no  ; take  it  back,  and  give  me 
gold.  Come,  dispatch  ! else  I must  disappoint  my  party. 
Look,  there  is  my  purse,”  added  she,  showing  it ; ‘‘make  haste 
and  fill  it.” 

After  satisfying  her  demands,  Mr.  Burket  handed  her  lady- 
ship out  the  way  she  came  in,  which  was  by  a private  passage ; 
and  having  seated  her  in  her  carriage,  made  his  bow. 

Meanwhile  the  Count  Sobieski,  wrapped  in  astonishment 
at  the  profligacy  which  the  scene  he  had  witnessed  implied,  re- 
mained in  concealment  until  the  pawnbroker  returned,  and 
opened  the  closet-door. 

“ Sir,”  said  he,  coloring,  “ you  have,  undesignedly  on  your 
part,  been  privy  to  a very  delicate  affair ; but  my  credit,  sir, 
and  your  honor ” 

“ Shall  both  be  sacred,”  replied  the  count,  anxious  to  re- 
lieve the  poor  man  from  his  perplexity,  and  forbearing  to  ex- 
press surprise.  But  Burket  perceived  it  in  his  look ; and  be- 
fore he  proceeded  to  fulfill  the  engagement  with  him,  stepped 
half  way  to  the  escrutoire,  and  resumed. 

“You  appear  amazed,  sir,  at  what  you  have  seen.  And  if 
I am  not  mistaken,  you  are  from  abroad  ? ” 

“ Indeed,  I am  amazed,”  replied  Sobieski ; “ and  I am 
from  a country  where  the  slightest  suspicion  of  a transaction 
such  as  this  would  brand  the  woman  with  infamy.” 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


146 

‘‘And  so  it  ought/’  answered  Burket ; “though  by  that 
assertion  I speak  against  my  own  interest,  for  it  is  by  such  as 
Lady  Hilliars  we  make  our  money.  Now,  sir,”  continued  he, 
drawing  nearer  to  the  table,  “ perhaps,  after  what  you  have 
just  beheld,  you  will  not  hesitate  to  credit  what  I am  going  to 
tell  you.  I have  now  in  my  hands  the  jewels  of  one  duchess, 
of  three  Countesses,  and  of  women-pf  fashion  without  number. 
When  these  ladies  have  an  ill  run  at  play,  they  apply  to  me  in 
their  exigencies  ; they  bring  their  diamonds  here,  and  as  their 
occasions  require,  on  that  deposit  I lend  them  money,  for  which 
they  make  me  a handsome  present  when  the  jewels  are  re- 
leased.” 

“You  astonish  me!”  exclaimed  Thaddeus  ; “what  a de- 
grading system  of  deceit  must  govern  the  lives  of  these 
women  ! ” 

“It  is  very  lamentable,”  returned  Burket;  “but  so  it  is. 
And  they  continue  to  manage  matters  very  cleverly.  By  giving 
me  their  note  or  word  of  honor,  (for  if  these  ladies  are  not 
honorable  with  me,  I know  by  what  hints  to  keep  them  in 
order,)  I allow  them  to  have  the  jewels  out  for  the  birth-days, 
and  receive  them  again  when  their  exhibition  is  over.  As  a 
compensation  for  these  little  indulgences,  I expect  considerable 
additions  to  the  douceur  at  the  end.” 

Thaddeus  could  hardly  believe  such  a history  of  those 
women,  whom  travellers  mentioned  as  not  only  the  most  lovely 
but  the  most  amiable  creatures  in  the  world. 

“ Surely,  Mr.  Burket,”  cried  he,  “ these  ladies  must  de- 
spise each  other,  and  become  contemptible  even  to  our  sex.” 

“ O,  no,”  rejoined  the  pawnbroker ; “ they  seldom  trust 
each  other  in  these  affairs.  All  my  fair  customers  are  not  so 
silly  as  that  pretty  little  lady  who  just  now  left  us.  She  and 
another  woman  of  quality  have  made  each  other  confidants  in 
this  business.  And  I have  no  mercy  when  both  come  together  I 
They  are  as  ravenous  of  my  money  as  if  it  had  no  other  use 
but  to  supply  them.  As  to  their  husbands,  brothers,  and 
fathers,  they  are  usually  the  last  people  who  suspect  or  hear  of 
these  matters ; their  applications,  when  they  run  out,  are  made 
to  Jews  and  professed  usurers,  a race  completely  out  of  our 
line.” 

“ But  are  all  English  women  of  quality  of  this  disgraceful 
stamp ” 

“No;  Heaven  forbid!”  cried  Burket;  “if  these  female 
spendthrifts  were  not  held  in  awe  by  the  dread  of  superior 
characters,  we  could  have -no  dependence  on  their  promises. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


147 


Oh,  no  , there  are  ladies  about  the  court  whose  virtues  are  as 
eminent  as  their  rank ; women  whose  actions  might  all  be 
performed  in  mid-day,  before  the  world  ; and  them  I never  see 
within  my  doors.” 

Well,  Mr.  Burket,”  rejoined  Thaddeus,  smiling  ; “ 1 am 
glad  to  hear  that.  Yet  I cannot  forget  the  unexpected  view,  of 
the  famous  British  fair  which  this  night  has  offered  to  my  eyes. 
It  is  strange  ! ” 

“ It  is  very  bad,  indeed,  sir,”  returned  the  man,  giving 
him  the  money  and  the  paper  he  had  been  preparing  ; but  if 
you  should  have  occasion  to  call  again  upon  me,  perhaps  you 
may  be  astonished  still  further.” 

The  count  bowed  ; and  thanking  him  for  his  kindness, 
wished  him  a good  evening  and  left  the  shop.* 

It  was  about  seven  o’clock  when  Thaddeus  arrived  at  the 
apothecary’s.  Mr.  Vincent  was  from  home.  To  say  the  trutli, 
he  had  purposely  gone  out  of  the  way.  For  though  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  commit  a shabby  action,  he  wanted  courage  to  face 
its  consequence  ; and  to  avoid  the  probable  remonstrances  of 
Mrs.  Robson,  he  commissioned  his  assistant  to  receive  the 
amount  of  the  bill.  Without  making  an  observation,  the  count 
paid  the  man,  and  was  returning  homeward  along  Duke  Street 
and  the  piazzas  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  when  the  crowd  around 
the  doors  constrained  him  to  stop. 

After  two  or  three  ineffectual  attempts  to  get  through  the 
bustle,  he  retreated  a little  behind  the  mob,  at  the  moment 
when  a chariot  drew  up,  and  a gentleman  stepping  OMt  with 
two  ladies,  darted  with  them  into  the  house.  One  glance  was 
sufficient  for  Sobieski,  who  recognized  his  friend  Pembroke 
Somerset,  in  full  dress,  gay  and  laughing.  The  heart  of  Thad- 
deus sprang  to  him  at  the  sight ; and  forgetting  his  neglect, 
and  his  own  misfortunes,  he  ejaculated — 

Somerset ! ” 

Trembling  with  eagerness  and  emotion,  he  pressed  through 
the  crowd,  and  entered  the  passage  at  the  instant  a green  door 
within  shut  upon  his  friend. 

His  disappointment  was  dreadful.  To  be  so  near  Somerset, 
and  to  lose  him,  was  more  than  he  could  sustain.  His  bound- 
ing heart  recoiled,  and  the  chill  of  despair  running  through 
his  veins  turned  him  faint.  Leaning  against  the  passage  door, 
he  took  his  hat  off  to  give  himself  air.  He  scarcely  had  stood 
a minute  in  this  situation,  revolving  whether  he  should  follow 

♦ The  whole  of  this  scene  at  the  pawnbroker’s  is  too  true  ; the  writer  knows  it  from 
an  eye  and  ear-witness.- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


148 

his  friend  into  the  house  or  wait  until  he  came  out  Hgain,  when 
a gentleman  begged  him  to  make  way  for  a party  of  ladies  that 
were  entering.  ' Thaddeus  moved  to  one  side  ; but  the  open- 
ing of  the  green  door  casting  a strong  light  both  on  his  face 
and  the  group  behind,  his  eyes  and  those  of  the  impertinent 
inquisitor  of  the  Hummums  met  each  other. 

Whether  the  man  was  conscious  that  he  deserved  chastise- 
ment for  his  former  insolence,  and  dreaded  to  meet  it  now, 
cannot  be  explained  ; but  he  turned  pale,  and  shuffled  by  Thad* 
deus,  as  if  he  were  fearful  to  trust  himself  within  reach  of  his 
grasp.  As  for  the  count,  he  was  too  deeply  interested  in  his 
own  pursuit  to  waste  one  surmise  upon  him. 

He  continued  to  muse  on  the  sight  of  Pembroke  Somerset, 
which  had  conjured  up  ten  thousand  fond  and  distressing  re- 
collections ; and  with  impatient  anxiety,  determining  to  watch 
till  the  performance  was  over,  he  thought  of  inquiring  his 
friend’s  address  of  the  servants  ; but  on  looking  round  for  that 
purpose,  he  perceived  the  chariot  had  driven  away. 

Thus  foiled,  he  returned  to  his  post  near  the  green  door, 
which  was  opened  at  intervals  by  footmen  passing  and  repass- 
ing. Seeing  that  the  chamber  within  was  a lobby,  in  which  it 
would  be  less  likely  he  should  miss  his  object  than  if  he  con- 
tinued standing  without,  he  entered  with  the  next  person  that 
approached  ; finding  seats  along  the  sides  he  sat  down  on  the 
one  nearest  to  the  stairs. 

His  first  idea  was  to  proceed  into  the  playhouse.  But  he 
considered  the  small  chance  of  discovering  any  particular  indi- 
vidual in  so  vast  a building  as  not  equal  to  the  expense  he  must 
incur.  Besides,  from  the  dress  of  the  gentlemen  who  entered 
the  box-door,  he  was  sensible  that  his  greatcoat  and  round  hat 
were  not  admissible.* 

Having  remained  above  an  hour  with  his  eyes  invariably 
fixed  on  the  stairs,  he  observed  that  some  curious  person,  who 
had  passed  almost  directly  after  his  friend,  came  down  the 
steps  and  walked  out.  In  two  minutes  he  was  returning  with 
a smirking  countenance,  when,  his  eyes  accidentally  falling  on 
the  count,  (who  sat  with  his  arms  folded,  and  almost  hidden  by 
the  shadow  of  the  wall,)  he  faltered  in  his  step.  Stretching  out 
his  neck  towards  him,  the  gay  grin  left  his  features  ; and  ex- 
claiming, in  an  impatient  voice,  “ Confound  him,”  he  hastened 
once  more  into  the  house. 

This  rencontre  with  his  Hummums’  acquaintance  affected 

• A nearly  full  dress  was  worn  at  that  time  by  ladies  and  gentlemen  at  the  great 
theatres.  And  much  respect  has  been  lost  to  the  higher  classes  by  the  gradual  change. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


T49 


Thaddeusas  slightly  as  the  former  ; and  without  annexing  even 
a thought  to  his  figure  as  it  flitted  by  him,  he  remained  watch- 
ing in  the  lobby  until  half -past  eleven.  At  that  hour  the  doors 
were  thrown  open,  and  the  company  began  to  pour  forth. 

The  count’s  hopes  were  again  on  his  lips  and  in  his  eyes. 
With  the  first  party  who  came  down  the  steps,  he  rose  ; and 
planting  himself  close  to  the  bottom  stair,  drew  his  hat  over  his 
face,  and  narrowly  examined  each  group  as  it  descended. 
Every  set  that  approached  made  his  heart  palpitate.  How 
often  did  it  rise  and  fall  during  the  long  succession  which  con- 
tinued moving  for  nearly  half  an  hour  ! 

By  twelve  the  house  was  cleared.  He  saw  the  middle  door 
locked,  and,  motionless  with  disappointment,  did  not  attempt 
to  stir,  until  the  man  who  held  the  keys  told  him  to  go,  as  he 
was  about  to  fasten  the  other  doors. 

This  roused  Thaddeus ; and  as  he  was  preparing  to  obey, 
he  asked  the  man  if  there  were  any  other  passage  from  the 
boxes. 

“Yes,”  cried  he  ; “ there  is  one  into  Drury  Lane.” 

“ Then,  by  that  I have  lost  him  ! ” was  the  reply  which  he 
made  to  himself.  And  returning  homewards,  he  arrived  there 
a few  minutes  after  twelve. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  MEETING  OF  EXILES. 

“ And  they  lifted  up  their  voices  and  wepL.” 

Thaddeus  awoke  in  the  morning  with  his  heart  full  of  the 
last  night’s  rencontre.  One  moment  he  regretted  that  he  had 
not  been  seen  by  his  friend.  In  the  next,  when  he  sur\'eyed 
' his  altered  state,  he  was  almost  reconciled  to  the  disappoint- 
ment. Then,  reproaching  himself  for  a pride  so  unbecoming 
his  principles  and  dishonorable  to  friendship,  he  asked,  if  he 
were  in  Somerset’s  place,  and  Somerset  in  his,  whether  he  could 
ever  pardon  the  morose  delicacy  which  had  prevented  the  com- 
munication of  his  friend’s  misfortunes,  and  arrival  in  the  same 
kingdom  with  himself. 

These  reflections  soon  persuaded  his  judgment  to  what  his 


ISO 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


heart  was  so  much  inclined  : determining  him  to  inquire 
Pembroke's  address  of  every  one  likely  to  know  a man  of  Sir 
Robert  Somerset's  consequence,  and  then  to  venture  a letter. 

In  the  midst  of  these  meditations  the  door  opened,  and 
Mrs.  Robson  appeared,  drowned  in  tears. 

“ My  dear,  dear  sir  ! cried  she,  ‘‘  my  William  is  going.  I 
have  just  taken  a last  look  of  his  sw^eet  face.  Will  you  go 
down  and  say  farewell  to  the  poor  child  you  loved  so  dearly  ? ’’ 
No,  my  good  madam,’’  returned  Thaddeus,  his  straying 
thoughts  at  once  gathering  round  this  mournful  centre ; ‘‘  I 
will  rather  retain  you  here  until  the  melancholy  task  be  entirely 
accomplished.” 

With  gentle  violence  he  forced  her  upon  a seat,  and  in 
silence  supported  her  head  on  his  breast,  against  which  she 
unconsciously  leaned  and  wept.  He  listened  with  a depressed 
heart  to  the  removal  of  the  coffin  ; and  at  the  closing  of  the 
street  door,  which  forever  shut  the  little  William  from  that 
house  in  which  he  had  been  the  source  of  its  greatest  pleasure, 
a tear  trickled  down  the  cheek  of  Thaddeus ; and  the  sobbings 
of  the  poor  grandmother  were  audible. 

The  count,  incapable  of  speaking,  pressed  her  hand  in  his. 

‘‘Oh,  Mr.  Constantine  ! ” cried  she,  “see  how  my  supports, 
one  after  the  other,  are  taken  from  me  ! first  my  son,  and  now 
his  infant ! To  what  shall  I be  reduced  ? ” 

“ You  have  still,  my  good  Mrs.  Robson,  a friend  in  Heaven, 
who  will  supply  the  place  of  all  you  have  lost  on  earth.” 

“ True,  dear  sir  1 I am  a wicked  creature  to  speak  as  I have 
done  ; but  it  is  hard  to  suffer  : it  is  hard  to  lose  all  we  loved  in 
the  world  1 ” 

“ It  is,”  returned  the  count,  greatly  affected  by  her  grief. 
“ But  God,  who  is  perfect  wisdom  as  well  as  perfect  love, 
chooseth  rather  to  profit  us  than  to  please  us  in  his  dispensa- 
tions. Our  sweet  William  has  gained  by  our  loss  : he  is  blessed 
in  heaven,  while  we  weakly  lament  him  on  earth.  Besides,  you 
are  not  yet  deprived  of  all ; you  hav^  a grand-daughter.” 

“ Ah,  poor  little  thing ! what  will  become  of  her  when  I 
die  ? I used  to  think  what  a precious  brother  my  darling  boy 
would  prove  to  his  sister  when  I should  be  no  more  ! ” 

This  additional  image  augmented  the  affliction  of  the  good 
old  woman ; and  Thaddeus,  looking  on  her  with  affectionate 
compassion,  exclaimed — 

“ Mrs.  Robson,  the  same  Almighty  Being  that  protected 
me,  the  last  of  my  family,  will  protect  the  orphan  offspring  of  a 
woman  so  like  the  revered  Naomi ! ” 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


Mrs.  Robson  lifted  up  her  head  for  a moment.  She  had 
never  before  heard  him  utter  a sentence  of  his  own  history  ; and 
what  he  now  said,  added  to  the  tender  solemnity  of  his  manner, 
for  an  instant  arrested  her  attention.  He  went  on. 

In  me  you  see  a man  who,  within  the  short  space  of  three 
months,  has  lost  a grandfather,who  loved  him  as  fondly  as  you 
did  your  William  ; a mother,  whom'  he  saw  expire  before  him, 
and  whose  sacred  remains  he  was  forced  to  leave  in  the  hands 
of  her  murderers  ! Yes,  Mrs.  Robson,  I have  neither  parents 
nor  a home.  I was  a stranger,  and  you  took  me  in  ; and 
Heaven  will  reward  your  family,  in  kind.  At  least,  I jDromise 
that  whilst  I live,  whatever  be  my  fate,  should  you  be  called 
hence,  I will  protect  your  grand-daughter  with  a brother’s  care.” 

“ May  Heaven  in  mercy  bless  you ! ” cried  Mrs.  Robson, 
dropping  on  her  knees.  Thaddeus  raised  her  with  gushing 
eyes ; having  replaced  her  in  a seat,  he  left  the  room  to  re- 
cover himself. 

According  to  the  count’s  desire,  Mrs.  Watts  called  in  the 
evening,  with  an  estimate  of  the  expenses  attending  the  child’s 
interment.  Fees  and  every  charge  collected,  the  demand  on 
his  benevolence  was  six  pounds.  The  sum  proved  rather  more 
than  he  expected,  but  he  paid  it  without  a demur,  leaving  him- 
self only  a few  shillings. 

He  considered  what  he  had  done  as  a fulfilment  of  a duty 
so  indispensible,  that  it  must  have  been  accomplished  even  by 
the  sacrifice  of  his  uttermost  farthing.  Gratitude  and  distress 
held  claims  upon  him  which  he  never  allowed  his  own  necessi- 
ties to  transgress.  All  gifts  of  mere  generosity  were  beyond 
his  power,  and,  consequently,  in  a short  time  beyond  his  wish  ; 
but  to  the  cry  of  want  and  wretchedness  his  hand  and  heart 
were  ever  open.  Often  has  he  given  away  to  a starving  child 
in  the  street  that  pittance  which  was  to  purchase  his  own  scant 
meal  ; and  he  never  felt  such  neglect  of  himself  a privation. 
To  have  turned  his  eyes  and  ears  from  the  little  mendicant 
would  have  been  the  hardest  struggle  ; and  the  remembrance 
of  such  inhumanity  would  have  haunted  him  on  his  pillow. 
This  being  the  disposition  of  Count  Sobieski,  he  found  it  more 
difficult  to  bear  calamity,  when  viewing  another’s  poverty  he 
could  not  relieve,  than  when  assailed  himself  by  penury,  in  all 
its  other  shapes  of  desolation. 

Towards  night,  the  idea  of  Somerset  again  presented  itself. 
When  he  fell  asleep,  his  dreams  repeated  the  scene  at  the  play- 
house ; again  he  saw  him,  and  again  he  eluded  his  grasp. 

His  waking  thoughts  were  not  less  true  to  their  object  ; 


IS2 


T/IADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


and  next  morning  he  went  to  a quiet  coffee-house  in  the  lane, 
where  he  called  for  breakfast,  and  inquired  of  the  master,  “ did 
be  know  the  residence  of  Sir  Robert  Somerset?  ” The  ques- 
tion was  no  sooner  asked  than  it  was  answered  to  his  satisfac- 
tion. The  Court  Guide  was  examined,  and  he  found  this  ad- 
dress : ‘‘  Sir  Robert  Somerset^  Bart,,  Grosvenor  Square, — Somer- 
set Castle,  L — shire, Deer  hurst,  W shire," 

Gladdened  by  the  discovery,  Thaddeus  hastened  home ; 
and  unwilling  to  affect  his  friend  by  a sudden  appearance, 
with  an  overflowing  heart  he  wrote  the  following  letter : — 

To  Pembroke  Somerset,  Esq.,  Grosvenor  Square. 

Dear  Somerset, 

“Will  the  name  at  the  bottom  of  this  paper  surprise  you  ? 
Will  it  give  you  pleasure  ? I cannot  suffer  myself  to  retain  a 
doubt ! although  the  silence  of  two  years  might  almost  convince 
me  I am  forgotten.  In  truth,  Somerset,  I had  resolved  never 
to  obtrude  myself  and  my  misfortunes  on  your  knowledge, 
until  last  Wednesday  night,  when  I saw  you  going  into  Drury 
Lane  Theatre  ; the  sight  of  you  quelled  all  my  resentment,  and 
I called  after  you,  but  you  did  not  hear.  Pardon  me,  my  dear 
friend,  that  I speak  of  resentment.  It  is  hard  to  learn  resigna-' 
tion  to  the  forgetfulness  of  those  we  love. 

“ Notwithstanding  that  I lost  the  pocket-book  in  a battle- 
field which  contained  your  direction,  I wrote  to  you  frequently 
at  a venture  ; and  yet,  though  you  knew  in  what  spot  in  Poland 
you  had  left  Thaddeus  and  his  family,  I have  never  heard  of 
you  since  the  day  of  our  separation.  You  must  have  some 
good  reason  for  your  silence  ; at  least  I hope  so. 

“ Doubtless  public  report  has  afforded  you  some  informa- 
tion relative  to  the  destruction  of  my  ever-beloved  country  ! I 
bear  its  fate  on  myself.  You  will  find  me  in  a poor  lodging  at 
the  bottom  of  St.  Martin’s  Lane.  You  will  find  me  changed  in 
everything.  But  the  first  horrors  of  grief  have  subsided  ; and 
my  dearest  consolation  in  the  midst  of  my  affliction  rises  out  of 
its  bitterest  cause  : I thank  Heaven,  my  revered  grandfather 
and  mother  were  taken  from  a consummation  of  ills  which 
would  have  reduced  them  to  a misery  I am  content  to  endure 
alone. 

“ Come  to  me,  dear  Somerset.  To  look  on  you,  to  press 
you  in  my  arms,  will  be  a happiness  which,  even  in  hope, 
makes  my  heart  throb  with  pleasure. 

“ I will  remain  at  home  all  day  to-morrow,  in  the  expecta- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


153 

tion  of  seeing  you ; meanwhile,  adieu,  my  dear  Somerset.  You 
will  find  at  No.  5 St.  Martin’s  Lane  your  ever  affectionate 

‘‘  Thaddeus  Constantine,  Count  Sobieski. 

‘‘  Friday  noon. 

P.S.  Inquire  for  me  by  the  name  of  Mr.  Constantine.^’* 

With  the  most  delightful  emotions,  Thaddeus  sealed  this 
letter  and  gave  it  to  Nanny,  with  orders  to  inquire  at  the  post- 
office  ‘‘  when  he  might  expect  an  answer  ? ” The  child  re- 
turned with  information  that  it  would  reach  Grosvenor  Square 
in  an  hour,  and  he  could  have  a reply  by  three  o’clock. 

Three  o’clock  arrived,  and  no  letter.  Thaddeus  counted 
the  hours  until  midnight,  but  they  brought  him  nothing  but 
disappointment.  The*  whole  of  the  succeeding  day  wore  away 
in  the  same  uncomfortable  manner.  His  heart  bounded  at 
every  step  in  the  passage ; and  throwing  opon  his  room-door, 
he  listened  to  every  person  that  spoke,  but  no  voice  bore  any 
resemblance  to  that  of  Somerset. 

Night  again  shut  in  ; and  overcome  by  a train  of  doubts, 
in  which  despondence  held  the  greatest  share  he  threw  himself 
on  his  bed,  though  unable  to  close  his  eyes. 

Whatever  be  our  afflictions,  not  one  human  creature  wdio 
has  endured  misfortune  will  hesitate  to  aver,  that  of  all  the 
tortures  incident  to  mortality,  there  are  none  like  the  rackings 
of  suspense.  It  is  the  hell  which  Milton  describes  with  such 
horrible  accuracy ; in  its  hot  and  cold  regions,  the  anxious  soul 
is  alternately  tossed  from  the  ardors  of  hope  to  the  petrifying 
rigors  of  doubt  and  dread.  Men  who  have  not  been  suspended 
between  confidence  and  fear,  in  their  judgment  of  a beloved 
friend’s  faithfulness,  are  ignorant  of  the  nerve  whence  agonies 
are  born.”  It  is  when  sunk  in  sorrow,  when  adversity  loads 
us  with  divers  miseries,  and  our  wretchedness  is  completed  by 
such  desertion  ! — it  is  then  we  are  compelled  to  acknowledge 
that,  though  life  is  brief,  there  are  few  friendships  which  have 
strength  to  follow  it  to  the  end.  But  how  precious  are  those 
few  ! The  are  pearls  above  price  ! 

Such  were  the  reflections  of  the  Count  Sobieski  when  he 
arose  in  the  morning  from  his  sleepless  pillow.  The  idea  that 
the  letter  might  have  been  delayed  afforded  him  a faint  hope, 
i which  he  cherished  all  day,  clinging  to  the  expectation  of  seeing 
I his  friend  before  sunset.  But  Somerset  did  not  appear  ; and 

i * The  humble  English  home  of  Thaddeus  Sobieski  is  now  totally  vanished,  along  with 
1 the  whole  row  of  houses  of  which  it  Was  one. 


154 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


obliged  to  seek  an  excuse  for  his  absence,  in  the  suiDposition 
of  his  application  having  miscarried,  Thaddeus  determined  to 
write  once  more,  and  to  deliver  the  letter  himself  at  his  friend’s 
door.  Accordingly,  with  emotions  different  from  those  with 
whicli  he  had  addressed  him  a few  days  before,  he  wrote  these 
lines ! — 


“To  Pembroke  Somerset,  Esq., 

If  he  who  once  called  Thaddeus  Sobieski  his  friend  has 
recelv^ed  a letter  which  that  exile  addressed  to  him  on  Friday 
last,  this  note  will  meet  the  same  neglect.  But  if  this  be  the 
first  intelligence  that  tells  Somerset  his  friend  is  in  town,  per- 
haps he  may  overlook  that  friend’s  change  of  fortune  ; he  may 
visit  him  in  his  distress  ! who  will  receive  him  with  open  arms, 
at  his  humble  abode  in  St.  Martin’s  Lane. 

“Sunday  Evening,  No.  5,  St.  Martin’s  Lane.” 

Thaddeus  having  sealed  the  letter,  walked  out  in  search  of 
Sir  Robert  Somerset’s  habitation.  After  some  inquiries,  he 
found  Grosvenor  Square  ; and  amidst  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
was  guided  to  the  house  by  the  light  of  the  lamps  and  the 
lustres  which  shone  through  the  open  windows.  He  hesitated 
a few  minutes  on  the  pavement,  and  looked  up.  An  old  gen- 
tleman was  standing  with  a little  boy  at  the  nearest  window. 
Whilst  the  count’s  eyes  were  fixed  on  these  two  figures,  he  saw 
Somerset  himself  come  up  to  the  child,  and  lead  it  away  to- 
wards a group  of  ladies. 

Thaddeus  immediately  flew  to  the  door,  with  a tremor  over 
his  frame  which  communicated  itself  to  the  knocker ; for  he 
knocked  with  such  violence  that  the  door  was  opened  in  an 
instant  by  half-a-dozen  footmen  at  once.  He  spoke  to  one. 

“ Is  Mr.  Pembroke  Somerset  at  home  ? ” 

Yes,”  replied  the  man,  who  saw  by  his  plain  dress  that  he 
could  not  be  an  invited  guest ; but  he  is  engaged  with  com- 
pany.” 

“ I do  not  want  to  see  him  now,”  rejoined  the  count ; ‘‘only 
give  him  that  letter,  for  it  is  of  consequence.” 

“ Certainly,  sir,”  replied  the  servant  ; and  Thaddeus  in- 
stantly withdrew. 

He  now  turned  homeward,  with  his  mind  more  than  com- 
monly depressed.  There  was  a something  in  the  whole  affair 
which  pierced  him  to  the  souk  He  had  seen  the  house  that 
contained  the  man  he  most  warmly  loved,  but  he  had  not  been 
admitted  within  it.  He  could  not  forbear  recollecting  that 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


15s 


when  his  gates. opened  wide  as  his  heart  to  welcome  Pembroke 
Somerset,  how  he  had  been  implored  by  his  then  grateful  friend 
to  bring  the  palatine  and  the  countess  to  England,  “ where  his 
father  would  be  proud  to  entertain  them,  as  the  preservers  of 
his  son.’^  How  different  from  these  professions  did  he  find  the 
reality  ! Instead  of  seeing  the  doors  widely  unclose  to  receive 
him,  he  was  allowed  to  stand  like  a beggar  on  the  threshold  ; 
and  he  heard  them  shut  against  him,  whilst  the  form  of  Somer- 
set glided  above  him,  even  as  the  shadow  of  his  buried  joys. 

These  discomforting  retrospections  on  the  past,  and  pain- 
ful meditations  on  the  present,  continued  to  occupy  his  mind, 
until  crossing  over  from  Piccadilly  to  Coventry  Street,  he  per- 
ceived a wretched-looking  man,  almost  bent  double,  accosting 
a party  of  people  in.  broken  French,  and  imploring  their 
charity. 

The  voice  and  the  accent  being  Sclavonian,  arrested  the  ear 
of  Thaddeus.  Drawing  close  to  the  man,  as  the  party  pro- 
ceeded without  taking  notice  of  the  application,  he  hastily 
asked,  ‘‘  Are  you  a Polander  ? ’’ 

Father  of  mercies  ! ’’  cried  the  beggar,  catching  hold  of  his 
hand,  am  I so  blessed ! have  I at  last  met  him  ? and,  burst- 
ing into  tears,  he  leaned  upon  the  arm  of  the  count,  who,  hardly 
able  to  articulate  with  surprise,  exclaimed — 

Dear,  worthy  Butzou  ! What  a time  is  this  for  you  and  I 
to  meet ! But,  come,  you  must  go  home  with  me.” 

“Willingly,  my  dear  lord,”  returned  he;  “for  I have  no 
home.  I begged  my  way  from  Harwich  to  this  town,  and  have 
already  spent  two  dismal  nights  in  the  streets,” 

“ O,  my  country  ! ” cried  the  full  heart  of  Thaddeus. 

“ Yes,”  continued  the  poor  old  soldier  ; “ it  received  its 
death  wounds  when  Kosciusko  and  my  honored  master  fell.” 

Thaddeus  could  not  reply  ; but  supporting  the  exhausted 
frame  of  his  friend,  who  was  hardly  able  to  walk,  after  many 
pauses,  gladly  descried  his  own  door. 

The  widow  opened  it  the  moment  he  knocked  ; and  seeing 
some  one  with  him,  was  retreating,  when  Thaddeus,  who  found 
from  the  silence  of  Butzou  that  he  was  faint,  begged  her  to 
allow  him  to  take  his  companion  into  her  parlor.  She  instantly 
made  way,  and  the  count  placed  the  now  insensible  old  man  in 
the  arm-chair  by  the  fire. 

“ He  is  my  friend,  my  father’s  friend  ! ” cried  Thaddeus, 
looking  at  his  pale  and  haggard  face,  with  a strange  wildness 
in  his  own  features  ; “ for  heaven’s  sake  give  me  something  to 
restore  him.” 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


Mrs.  Robson,  in  dismay,  and  literally  having  nothing  better 
in  the  house,  gave  him  a glass  of  water. 

That  will  not  do,”  exclaimed  he,  still  upholding  the  motion- 
less body  on  his  arm  ; “ have  you  no  wine  ? No  anything  '>  He 
is  dying  for  want.” 

“ None,  sir ; I have  none,”  answered  she,  frightened  at  the 
violence  of  his  manner.  Run,  Nanny,  and  borrow  something 
warming  of  Mrs.  Watts.” 

‘‘  Or,”  cried  Thaddeus,  bring  me  a bottle  of  wine  from  the 
nearest  inn.”  As  he  spoke,  he  threw  her  the  only  half-guinea 
he  possessed,  and  added,  ‘‘  Fly,  for  he  may  die  in  a moment.” 

The  child  flew  like  lightning  to  the  Golden  Cross,  and 
brought  the  wine  just  as  Butzou  had  opened  his  eyes,  and  was 
gazing  at  Thaddeus  with  a languid  agony  that  tDenetrated  his' 
soul.  Mrs.  Robson  held  the  water  to  his  lips.  He  swallowed 
a little,  then  feebly  articulated,  “ I am  perishing  for  want  of 
food.” 

Thaddeus  had  caught  the  bottle  from  Nanny,  and  pouring 
some  of  its  contents  into  a glass,  made  him  drink  it.  This 
draught  revived  him  a little.  He  raised  himself  in  his  seat ; 
but  still  panting  and  speechless,  leaned  his  swimming  head 
upon  the  bosom  of  his  friend,  who  knelt  by  his  side,  whilst  Mrs. 
Robson  was  preparing  some  toasted  bread,  with  a little  more 
heated  wine,  which  was  fortunately  good  sherry. 

After  much  kind  exertion  between  the  good  landlady  and 
the  count,  they  sufficiently  recovered  the  poor  invalid  to  enable 
them  to  support  him  up  stairs  to  lie  down  on  the  bed.  I'he 
drowsiness  usually  attendant  on  debility,  aided  by  the  fumes  of 
the  wine,  threw  him  into  an  immediate  and  deep  sleep. 

Thaddeus  seeing  him  at  rest,  thought  it  proper  to  rejoin 
Mrs.  Robson,  and  by  a partial  history  of  his  friend,  acquaint 
her  with  the  occasion  of  the  foregoing  scene.  He  found  the 
good  woman  surprised  and  concerned,  but  no  way  displeased ; 
and,  in  a few  words,  he  gave  her  a summary  explanation  of  the 
precipitancy  with  which,  without  her  permission,  he  had  intro- 
duced a stranger  under  her  roof. 

The  substance  of  what  he  said  related  that  the  person  up 
stairs  had  served  with  him  in  the  army;  that  on  the  ruin  of  his 
country  (which  he  could  no  longer  conceal  was  Poland),  the 
venerable  man  had  come  in  quest  of  him  to  England,  and  in  his 
journey  had  sustained  misfortunes  which  had  reduced  him  to 
the  state  she  saw. 

“I  met  him,”  continued  he,  ‘‘forlorn  and  afone  in  the 
street  and  whilst  he  lives^  1 shall  hold  it  my  duty  to  protect 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


^57 


him.  I love  him  for  his  own  sake,  and  I honor  him  for  my 
grandfather’s.  Besides,  Mrs.  Robson,”  cried  he,  with  addi- 
tional energy,  “ before  I left  my  country,  I made  a vow  to  my 
sovereign  that  wherever  I should  meet  this  brave  old  man,  I 
would  serve  him  to  the  last  hour  of  his  life.  Therefore  we  must 
part  no  more.  Will  you  give  him  shelter?  ” added  he,  in  a sub- 
dued voice.  “Will  you  allow  me  to  retain  him  in  my  apart- 
ments ? ” 

“ Willingly,  sir  ; but  how  can  I accommodate  him  ? he  is 
already  in  your  bed,  and  I have  not  one  to  spare.” 

“ Leave  that  to  me,  best,  kindest  of  women  ! ” exclaimed 
the  count  ; “ your  permission  has  rendered  me  happy.” 

He  then  wished  her  a good-night,  and  returning  up  stairs, 
wrapped  himself  in  his  dressing-gown,  and  passed  the  night  by 
the  little  fire  of  the  sitting-room. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  veteran’s  NARRATIVE. 

Owing  to  comfortable  refreshment  and  a night  of  undis^ 
turbed  sleep.  General  Butzou  awoke  in  the  morning  much  re- 
covered from  the  weakness  which  had  subdued  him  the  preced- 
ing day. 

Thaddeus  observed  this  change  with  pleasure.  Whilst  he 
sat  by  his  bed,  ministering  to  him  with  the  care  of  a son,  he 
dwelt  with  a melancholy  delight  on  his  revered  features,  and 
listened  to  his  languid  voice  with  those  tender  associations 
which  are  dear  to  the  heart,  though  they  pierce  it  with  regret- 
ful anguish. 

“Tell  me,  my  dear  general,”  said  he,  “for  I can  bear  to 
hear  it  now — tell  me  what  has  befallen  my  unhappy  country 
since  I quitted  it.” 

“ Every  calamity,”  criecj  the  brave  old  man,  shaking  his 
head,  “ that  tyranny  could  devise.” 

“ Well,  go  on,”  returned  the  count,  with  a smile,  which 
truly  declared  that  the  composi.rj  of  his  air  was  assumed  ; “ we, 
who  have  beheld  her  sufferings,  and  yet  live,  need  not  fear  hear- 
ing them  described ! Did  you  see  the  king  before  he  left 
Warsaw  ? ” 

“ No,”  replied  Butzou ; “ our  oppressors  took  care  of  that. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


Whilst  you,  my  lord,  were  recovering  from  your  wounds  in  the 
citadel,  I set  off  for  Sachoryn,  to  join  Prince  Poniatowski.  In 
my  way  thither  I met  some  soldiers,  who  informed  me  that  his 
highness,  having  been  compelled  to  discharge  his  troops,  was 
returning  to  support  his  royal  brother  under  the  indignities 
which  the  haughtiness  of  the  victor  might  premeditate.  I then 
directed  my  steps  towards  Sendomir,  where  I hoped  to  find 
Dombrowski,  with  still  a few  faithful  followers  ; but  here,  too, 

I was  disappointed.  Two  days  before  my  arrival,  that  general, 
according  to  orders,  had  disbanded  his  whole  party.*  I now 
found  that  Poland  was  completely  in  the  hands  of  her  ravagers,. 
and  yet  I prepared  to  return  into  her  bosom  ; my  feet  naturally 
took  that  course.  But  I was  agonized  at  every  step  I retrod. 

I beheld  the  shores  of  the  Vistula,  lined  on  every  side  with  the 
allied  troops.  Ten  thousand  were  posted  on  her  banks,  and 
eighteen  thousand  amongst  the  ruins  of  Praga  and  Villanow. 

‘‘  When  I approached  the  walls  of  Warsaw,  imagine,  my  dear 
lord,  how  great  was  my  indignation  ! How  barbarous  the  con- 
duct of  our  enemies  ! Batteries  of  cannon  were  erected  around 
the  city,  to  level  it  with  the  ground  on  the  smallest  murmur  of 
discontent. 

On  the  morning  of  my  arrival,  I was  hastening  to  the  pal- 
ace to  pay  my  duty  to  the  king,  when  a Cossack  officer  inter- 
cepted me,  whom  I formerly  knew,  and  indeed  kindly  warned 
me  that  if  I attempted  to  pass,  my  obstinacy  would  be  fatal  to 
myself  and  hazardous  to  his  majesty,  whose  confinement  and 
suffering  were  augmented  in  proportion  to  the  adherents  he  re- 
' tained  amongst  the  Poles.  Hearing  this,  I was  turning  away, 
overwhelmed  with  grief,  when  the  doors  of  the  audience  cham- 
ber opened,  and  the  Counts  Potocki,  Kilinski,  and  several  others 
of  your  grandfather’s  dearest  friends,  were  led  forth  under  a 
guard.  I was  standing  motionless  with  surprise,  when  Potocki, 
perceiving  me,  held  forth  his  hand.  I took  it,  and  wringing  it, 
in  the  bitterness  of  my  heart  uttered  some  words  which  I cannot 
remember,  but  my  Cossack  friend  whispered  me  to  beware  how 
1 again  gave  way  to  such  dangerous  remarks. 

“ ‘ Farewell,  my  worthy  general;  said  Pqtocki,  in  a low  voice  ; 
‘ you  see  we  arQ  arrested.  We  loved  Poland  too  faithfully,  for 
her  enemies : and  for  that  reason  we  are  to  be  sent  prisoners 


* Dombrowski  withdrew  into  France,  where  he  was  soon  joined  by  others  of  his  country- 
n • which  little  band,  in  process  of  time,  by  gradual  accession  of  numbers,  became  wHat 
s afterwards  styled  the  celebrated  Polish  legion,  in  the  days  of  Napoleon  ; at  the  he^ 


xne  latai  iivci  ms  unum-itoA 

Cracow,  and  buried  near  to  the  torfib  of  John  Sobieski. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


159 


to  St.  Petersburg.  Sharing  the  fate  of  Kosciusko,  our  chains 
are  our  distinction  ; such  a collar  of  merit  is  the  most  glorious 
order  which  the  imperial  sceptre  could  bestow  on  a knight  of 
St.  Stanislaus.’ 

“ ‘ Sir,  I cannot  admit  of  this  conversation,’  cried  the  officer 
of  the  guard ; and  commanding  the  escort  to  proceed,  I lost 
sight  of  these  illustrious  patriots,  probably  forever.* 

I understood,  from  the  few  Poles  who  remained  in  the 
citadel,  that  the  good  Stanislaus  was  to  be  sent  on  the  same 
dismal  errand  of  captivity,  to  Grodno,  the  next  da}\  They 
also  told  me  that  Poland  being  no  more,  you  had  torn  yourself 
from  its  bleeding  remains,  rather  than  behold  the  triumphant 
entry  of  its  conqueror.  This  insulting  pageant  was  performed 
,:;on  the  9th  of  November  last.  On  the  8th,  I believe  you  left 
Warsaw  for  England.” 

“ Yes,”  replied  the  count,  who  had  listened  with  a breaking 
heart  to  this  distressing  narrative  ; ‘‘  and  doubtless  I saved  my- 
self much  misery.” 

“You  did.  One  of  the  magistrates  described  to  me  the 
whole  scene,  at  which  1 would  not  have  been  present  for  the 
world’s  empire  ! He  told  me  that  when  the  morning  arrived  in 
which  General  Suwarrow,  attended  by  the  confederated  envoys, 
was  to  make  his  public  e?itree.,  not  a citizen  could  be  seen  that 
was  not  compelled  to  appear.  A dead  silence  reignecf  in  the 
streets  ; the  doors  and  windows  of  every  house  remained  so 
closed  that  a stranger  might  have  supposed  it  to  be  a general 
mourning ; and  it  was  the  bitterest  sight  which  could  have 
fallen  upon  our  souls  ! At  this  moment,  when  Warsaw,  I may 
say,  lay  dying  at  the  feet  of  her  conqueror,  the  foreign  troops 
marched  into  the  city,  the  only  spectators  of  their  own  horrible 
tragedy.  At  length,  with  eyes  which  could  no  longer  weep,  the 
magistrates,  reluctant,  and  full  of  indignation,  proceeded  to 
meet  the  victor  on  the  bridge  of  Praga.  When  they  came  near 
the  procession,  they  presented  the  keys  of  Warsaw  on  their 
knees.” 

“ On  their  knees  ! ” interrupted  Thaddeus,  starting  up,  and 
the  blood  flushing  over  his  face. 

“Yes,”  answered  Butzou,  “on  their  knees.” 

“Almighty  Justice  ! ” exclaimed  the  count,  pacing  the  room 
with  emotion  ; “ why  did  not  the  earth  open  and  swallow  them  ! 
Why  did  not  the  blood  which  saturated  the  spot  whereon  they 

* The  Potocki  family  at  that  time  had  still  large  possessions  in  the  Crimean  country 
the  Cossacks  ; for  it  had  formerly  belonged  to  the  crown  of  Poland.  And  hence  a kind  of 
kindred  memory  lingered  amonpt  the  people  : not  disaffecting  them  from  their  n<^ 
but  allowing  a natural  respect  for  the  descendants  oi  the  old. 


i6c 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W, 


knelt  cry  out  to  them  ? O Butzou,  this  humiliation  of  Poland 
is  worse  to  me  than  all  her  miseries  ! ” 

I felt  as  you  feel,  my  lord,’’  continued  the  general,  ‘‘  and 
I expressed  myself  with  the  same  resentment ; but  the  magis- 
trate who  related  to  me  that  circumstance  urged  in  excuse  for 
himself  and  his  brethren  that  such  a form  was  necessary  ; and 
had  they  refused,  probably  their  lives  would  have  been  for- 
feited.” 

“Well,”  inquired  Thaddeus,  resuming  his  seat,  “but  where 
was  the  king  during  this  transaction  ? ” 

“ In  the  castle,  where  he  received  orders  to  be  present  next 
day  at  a public  thanksgiving,  at  which  the  inhabitants  of 
Warsaw  were  also  commanded  to  attend,  to  perform  a 
Te  Deujn^  in  gratitude  for  the  destruction  of  their  country. 
Thank  heaven  ! I was  spared  from  witnessing  this  blasphemy  \ 
I was  then  at  Sendomir.  But  the  day  after  I had  heard  of  it,  I 
saw  the  carriage  which  contained  the  good  Stanislaus  guarded 
like  a traitor’s  out  of  the  gates,  and  that  very  hour  I left  the 
city.  I made  my  way  to  Hamburgh,  where  I took  a passage  to 
Harwich.  But  when  there,  owing  to  excessive  fatigue,  one  of 
my  old  wounds  broke  out  afresh  ; and  continuing  ill  a week,  I 
expended  all  my  money.  Reduced  to  my  last  shilling,  and 
eager  to  find  you,  I begged  my  way  from  that  town  to  this.  I 
had  already  spent  two  miserable  days  and  nights  in  the  open 
air,  with  no  other  sustenance  than  the  casual  charity  of  passen- 
gers, when  HeavenL;§ent  you,  my  honored  Sobieski,  to  save  me 
from  perishing  in  the  streets.” 

Butzou  pressed  the  hand  of  his  young  friend,  as  he  con- 
cluded. Indignation  still  kept  its  station  on  the  count’s  fea- 
tures. 

The  poor  expatriated  wanderer  observed  it  with  satisfaction, 
well  pleased  that  this  strong  emotion  at  the  supposed  pusillan- 
imity of  his  countrymen  had  prevented  those  bursts  of  grief 
which  might  have  been  expected  from  his  sensitive  nature, 
when  informed  that  ruined  Poland  was  not  only  treated  by  its 
ravagers  like  a slave,  but  loaded  with  the  shackles  and  usage 
of  a criminal. 

Towards  evening.  General  Butzou  fell  asleep.  'Phaddeus, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  fire,  and  mused 
with  amazement  and  sorrow  on  what  had  been  told  him.  When 
it  was  almost  dark,  and  he  was  yet  lost  in  reflection,  Mrs.  Rob- 
son gently  opened  the  door  and  presented  a letter.  “ Here, 
sir,”  said  she,  “ is  a letter  which  a servant  has  just  left ; he  told 
•n  .'  it.  required  no  answer.” 


THADDEUS  OF  WAESAIV. 


i6l 


Thaddeus  sprang  from  his  seat  at  sight  of  the  paper,  and 
almost  catching  it  from  her,  his  former  gloomy  cogitations  dis- 
persed before  the  hopes  and  fond  emotions  of  friendship  which 
Qow  lit  up  in  his  bosom.  Mrs.  Robson  withdrew.  He  looked 
at  the  superscription — it  was  the  handwriting  of  his  friend. 
Tearing  it  asunder,  two  folded  papers  presented  themselves. 
He  opened  them,  and  they  were  his  own  letters,  returned  with- 
out a word.  His  beating  heart  was  suddenly  checked.  Letting 
the  papers  fall  from  his  hand,  he  dropped  back  on  his  seat  and 
closed  his  eyes,  as  if  he  would  shut  them  from  the  world  and 
its  ingratitude. 

Unable  to  recover  from  his  astonishment,  his  thoughts 
whirled  about  in  a succession  of  accusations,  surmises  and 
doubts,  which  seemed  for  a few  minutes  to  drive  him  to  distrac- 
tion, 

‘‘  Was  it  really  the  hand  of  Somerset  ? 

Again  he  examined  the  envelope.  It  was  ; and  the  enclos- 
ures were  his  own  letters,  without  one  word  of  apology  for  such 
incomprehensible  conduct. 

“Could  he  make  one?  No,’^  replied  Thaddeus  to  himself. 
“Unhappy  that  I am,  to  have  been  induced  to  apply  twice  to 
so  despicable  a man  ! Oh,  Somerset,^'  cried  he,  looking  at  the 
papers  as  they  lay  before  him  ; “ was  it  necessary  that  insult 
should  be  added  to  unfaithfulness  and  ingratitude,  to  throw  me 
off  entirely  ? Good  heavens  ! did  he  think  because  I wrote 
twice,  I would  persecute  him  with  applications  ? I have  been 
told  this  of  mankind  ; but,  that  I should  find  it  in  him  ? ” 

In  this  way,  agitated  and  muttering,  and  walking  up  and 
down  the  room,  he  spent  another  wakeful  and  cheerless  night. 

When  he  went  down  stairs  next  morning,  to  beg  Mrs. 
Robson  to  attend  his  friend  until  his  return,  she  mentioned  how 
uneasy  she  was  at  having  heard  him  most  of  the  preceding  night 
moving  above  her  head.  He  was  trying  to  account  to  her  for 
his  restlessness,  by  complaining  of  a headache,  but  she  inter- 
rupted him  by  saying,  “O  no,  sir;  I am  sure  it  is  the  hard 
boards  you  lie  on,  to  accommodate  the  poor  old  gentleman.  I 
am  certain  you  will  make  yourself  ill.” 

Thaddeus  thanked  her  for  her  solicitude  ; but  declaring  that 
all  beds  hard,  or  soft,  were  alike  to  him,  he  left  her  more  recon- 
ciled to  his  pallet  on  the  floor.  And  with  his  drawings  in  his 
pocket,  once  more  took  the  path  to  Great  Newport  Street. 

Resentment  against  his  fickle  friend,  and  anxiety  for  the 
tranquillity  of  General  Butzou,  whose  age,  infirmities  and  suf- 
ferings threatened  a speedy  termination  of  his  life,  determined 


i62 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


the  count  to  sacrifice  all  false  delicacy  and  morbid  feelings,  and 
to  hazard  another  attempt  at  acquiring  the  means  of  affording 
those  comforts  to  the  sick  veteran  which  his  condition  de 
manded.  Happen  how  it  would,  he  resolved  that  Butzoii 
should  never  know  the  complete  wreck  of  his  property.  He 
shuddered  at  loading  him  with  the  additional  distress  of  think- 
ing he  was  a burden  on  his  protector. 

Thaddeus  passed  the  door  of  the  printseller  who  had  be- 
haved so  ill  to  him  on  his  first  application  ; and  walking  to  the 
farthest  shop  on  the  same  side,  entered  it.  Laying  his  draw- 
ings on  the  counter,  he  requested  the  person  who  stood  there 
to  look  at  them.  They  were  immediately  opened ; and  the 
count,  dreading  a second  repulse,  or  even  more  than  similar 
insolence,  hastily  added — 

They  are  scenes  in  Germany.  If  you  like  to  have  them, 
their  price  is  a guinea.’’ 

‘‘  Are  you  the  painter,  sir 't  ” was  the  reply. 

‘‘  Yes,  sir.  Do  they  please  you  ? ” 

‘‘ Yes,”  answered  the  tradesman,  (for  it  was  the  master.) 
examining  them  nearer  ; there  is  a breadth  and  freedom  in 
the  style  which  is  novel,  and  may  take.  I will  give  you  your 
demand;  ” and  he  laid  the  money  on  the  counter. 

Rejoiced  that  he  had  succeeded  where  he  had  entertained 
no  hope,  Thaddeus,  with  a bow,  was  leaving  the  shop,  when  the 
man  called  after  him,  ‘‘  Stay,  sir ! ” 

He  returned,  prepared  to  now  hear  some  disparaging  remark. 

It  is  strange,  but  it  is  true,  that  those  who  have  been  thrust 
by  misfortune  into  a state  beneath  their  birth  and  expectations, 
too  often  consider  themselves  the  objects  of  universal  hostility. 
They  see  contempt  in  every  eye,  they  suppose  insult  in  every 
word  ; the  slightest  neglect  is  sufficient  to  set  the  sensitive  pride 
of  the  unfortunate  in  a blaze  ; and,  alas  ! how  little  is  this 
sensibility  respected  by  the  rich  and  gay  in  their  dealings  with 
the  unhappy  ! To  what  an  addition  of  misery  are  the  wretched 
exposed,  meeting  not  only  those  contumelies  which  the  pros- 
perous are  not  backward  to  bestow,  but  those  fancied  ills  which, 
however  unfounded,  keep  the  mind  in  a feverish  struggle  with 
itself,  and  an  uttered  warfare  with  the  surrounding  world  1 

Repeated  insults  infused  into  the  mind  of  Sobieski  much  of 
this  anticipating  irritability ; and  it  was  with  a very  haughty 
step  that  he  turned  back  to  hear  what  the  printseller  meant 
to  say. 

I only  want  to  ask  whether  you  follow^  this  art  as  a pro- 
fession ? ” 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


163 


^‘Yes.” 

“Then  I shall  be  glad  if  you  can  furnish  me  with  six  such 
drawings  every  week/^ 

“ Certainly/^  replied  Thaddeus,  pleased  with  the  probability 
of  thus  securing  something  towards  the  support  of  his  friend. 

“ Then  bring  me  another  half-dozen  next  Monday.” 

Thaddeus  promised,  and  with  a relieved  mind  took  his  way 
homeward. 

Who  is  there  in  England,  I repeat,  who  does  not  remember 
the  dreadfully  protracted  winter  of  1794,  when  the  whgle  coun- 
try lay  buried  in  a thick  ice  which  seemed  eternal  ? Over  that 
ice,  and  through  those  snows,  the  venerable  General  Butzou 
had  begged  his  way  from  Harwich  to  London.  He  rested  at 
night  under  the  shelter  of  some  shed  or  outhouse,  and  cooled 
his  feverish  thirst  with  a little  water  taken  from  under  the 
broken  ice  which  locked  up  the  springs.  The  effect  of  this  was 
a painful  rheumatism,  which  fixed  itself  in  his  limbs,  and  soon 
rendered  them  nearly  useless. 

Two  or  three  weeks  passed  over  the  heads  of  the  general 
and  his  young  protector,  Thaddeus  cheering  the  old  man  with 
his  smiles,  and  he,  in  return,  imparting  the  only  pleasure  to  him 
which  his  melancholy  heart  could  receive — the  conviction  that 
his  attentions  aisd  affection  were  productive  of  comfort. 

In  the  exercise  of  these  duties,  the  count  not  only  found  his 
health  gradually  recover  its  tone,  but  his  mind  became  more 
tranquil,  and  less  prone  to  those  sudden  floods  of  regret  which 
were  rapidly  sapping  his  life.  By  a strict  economy  on  his  part, 
he  managed  to  pay  the  widow  and  support  his  friend  out  of  the 
weekly  profits  of  his  drawings,  which  were  now  and  then  aug- 
mented by  a commission  to  do  one  or  two  more  than  the  stipu- 
lated number. 

Thus,  conversing  with  Butzou,  reading  to  him  when  awake 
or  pursuing  his  drawings  when  he  slept,  Thaddeus  spent  the 
time  until  the  beginning  of  March. 

One  fine  starlight  evening  in  that  month,  just  before  the 
frost  broke  up,  after  painting  all  day,  he  desired  little  Nanny  to 
take  care  of  the  general ; and  leaving  his  work  at  the  print- 
seller’s,  he  then  proceeded  through  Piccadilly,  intending  to  go 
as  far  as  Hyde  Park  Corner,  and  return. 

Pleased  with  the  beauty  of  the  night,  he  walked  on,  not  re- 
marking that  he  had  passed  the  turnpike,  until  he  heard  a scream. 
The  sound  came  from  near  the  Park  wall.  Pie  hurried  along, 
and  at  a short  distance  perceived  a delicate-looking  woman 


i64 


TH A DDE  US  OF  WARSAW, 


struggling  with  a man,  who  was  assaulting  her  in  a very  offen- 
sive manner. 

Without  a moment’s  hesitation,  with  one  blow  of  his  arm 
Thaddeus  sent  the  fellow  reeling  against  the  wall.  But  whilst 
he  supported  the  outraged  person  who  seemed  fainting,  the  man 
recovered  himself,  and  rushing  on  her  champion,  aimed  a stroke 
at  his  head  with  an  immense  bludgeon,  which  the  count,  catch- 
ing hold  of  as  it  descended,  wrenched  out  of  his  hand.  The 
horrid  oaths  of  the  ruffian  and  th.e  sobs  of  his  rescued  victim 
collected  a mob  ; and  then  the  villain,  fearing  worse  usage,  made 
off  and  left  Thaddeus  to  restore  the  terrified  female  at  his  leisure. 

As  soon  as  she  was  able  to  speak,  she  thanked  her  deliverer, 
in  a voice  and  language  that  assured  him  it  was  no  common 
person  he  had.  befriended.  But  in  the  circumstance  of  her  dis- 
tress, all  would  have  been  the  same  to  him  ; — a helpless  woman 
was  insulted  ; and  whatever  her  rank  might  be,  he  thought  she 
had  an  equal  claim  on  his  protection. 

The  mob  dispersed ; and  finding  the  lady  capable  of  walk- 
ing, he  begged  permission  to  see  her  safe  home. 

‘‘  I thank  you,  sir,”  she  replied,  ‘‘  and  I accept  your  offer 
with  gratitude.  Besides,  after  your  generous  interference,  it  is 
requisite  that  I should  account  to  you  how  a woman  of  my  ap- 
pearance came  out  at  this  hour  without  attendance.  I have 
no  other  excuse  to  advance  for  such  imprudence  than  that  I 
have  often  done  so  with  impunity.  I have  a friend  whose  hus- 
band, being  in  the  Life-Guards,  lives  near  the  barracks.  We 
often  drink  tea  with  each  other  ; sometimes  my  servants  come 
for  me,  and  sometimes,  when  I am  wearied  and  indisposed,  I 
come  away  earlier  and  alone.  This  happened  to-night  ; and  I 
liave  to  thank  your  gallantry,  sir,  for  my  rescue  from  the  first 
outrage  of  the  kind  which  ever  assailed  me.” 

By  the  time  that  a few  more  complimentary  words  on  her 
side,  and  a modest  reply  from  Thaddeus,  had  passed,  they 
stopped  before  a house  in  Grosvenor  Place.*  The  lady  knocked 
at  the  door ; and  as  soon  as  it  was  opened,  the  count  was  tak- 
ing his  leave,  but  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  said,  in  a 
voice  of  sincere  invitation  : 

“No,  sir;  I must  not  lose  the  opportunity  of  convincing 
you  that  you  have  not  succored  a person  unworthy  of  your 
kindness.  I entreat  you  to  walk  in  ! ” 

♦ All  this  local  scenery  is  changed.  There  is  no  turnpike  gate  now  at  the  Hyde  Park 
end  of  Piccadilly  ; neither  is  there  a park  wall.  Splendid  railings  occupy  its  place  ; and  two 
superb  triumphal  arches,  in  the  fashion  of  France,  one  leading  into  the  Park  and  the  other 
leading  towards  Buckingham  Palace,  gorgeously  fill  the  sites  of  the  former  plain,  wayfaring, 
English  turnpike-lodges. — 1845. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


Thaddeus  was  too  much  pleased  with  her  manner  not  to 
accept  this  courtesy.  He  followed  her  up  stairs  into  a drawing- 
room, where  a young  lady  was  seated  at  work. 

“ Miss  Egerton,”  cried  his  conductress,  here  is  a gentle- 
man who  has  this  moment  saved  me  from  a ruffian.  You  must 
assist  me  to  express  my  gratitude.’’ 

“ I would  with  all  my  heart,”  returned  she  ; but  your  lady- 
ship confers  benefits  so  well,  you  cannot  be  at  a loss  how  to 
receive  them.” 

Thaddeus  took  the  chair  which  a servant  set  for  him,  and, 
with  mingled  pleasure  and  admiration,  turned  his  eyes  on  the 
lovely  woman  he  had  rescued.  She  had  thrown  off  her  cloak 
and  veil,  and  displayed  a figure  and  countenance  full  of  dignity 
and  interest. 

She  begged  him  to  lay  aside  his  great- coat,  for  she  must  in- 
sist upon  his  supping  with  her.  There  was  a commanding 
softness  in  her  manner,  and  a gentle  yet  unappealable  decision 
in  her  voice,  he  could  not  withstand ; and  he  prepared  to  obey, 
although  he  was  aware  the  fashion  and  richness  of  the  military 
dress  concealed  under  his  coat  would  give  her  ideas  of  his 
situation  he  could  not  answer. 

The  lady  did  not  notice  his  hesitation,  but,  ringing  the  bell, 
desired  the  servant  to  take  the  gentleman’s  hat  and  coat.  Thad- 
deus instantly  saw  in  the  looks  of  both  the  ladies  what  he 
feared. 

I perceive,”  said  the  elder,  as  she  took  her  seat,  that 
my  deliverer  is  in  the  army : yet  I do  not  recollect  having  seen 
that  uniform  before.” 

I am  not  an  Englishman,”  returned  he. 

“ Not  an  Englishman,”  exclaimed  Miss  Egerton,  “ and 
speak  the  language  so  accurately  ! You  cannot  be  Erench  1 ” 

‘‘  No,  madam ; I had  the  honor  of  serving  under  the  King 
of  Poland.” 

Then  his  was  a very  gallant  court,  I suppose,”  rejoined 
Miss  Egerton,  with  a smile  ; “ for  I am  sorry  to  say  there  are 
few  about  St.  James’s  who  would  have  taken  the  trouble  to  do 
what  you  have  done  by  Lady  Tinemouth.” 

He  returned  the  young  lady’s  smile.  I have  seen  too  little, 
madam,  of  Englishmen  of  rank  to  show  any  gallantry  in  defend- 
ing this  part  of  my  sex  against  so  fair  an  accuser.”  Indeed,  he 
recollected  the  officers  in  the  Park,  and  the  perfidy  of  Somer- 
set, and  thought  he  had  no  reason  to  give  them  more  respect 
than  their  countrywomen  manifested. 

“ Come,  come,  Sophia,”  cried  Lady  Tinemouth ; “ though 


i66 


THADDELIS  OF  WARSAW. 


no  woman  has  less  cause  to  speak  well  of  mankind  than  I have, 
I will  not  permit  my  countrymen  to  be  run  down  in  toto,  I 
dare  say  this  gentleman  will  agree  with  me,  that  it  shows  neither 
a candid  nor  a patriotic  spirit.”  Her  ladyship  uttered  this 
little  rebuke  smilingly. 

I dare  say  he  will  not  agree  with  you,  Lady  Tinemouth. 
No  gentleman  yet,  who  had  his  wits  about  him,  ever  agreed  with 
an  elder  lady  against  a younger.  Now,  Mr.  gentleman  ! — for 
it  seems  the  name  by  which  we  are  to  address  you, — what  do 
you  say  ? Am  I so  very  reprobate  ? ” 

Thaddeus  almost  laughed  at  the  singular  way  she  had 
chosen  to  ask  his  name  ; and  allowing  some  of  the  gloom  which 
generally  obscured  his  fine  eyes  to  disperse,  he  answered  with 
a smile — ' 

“ My  name  is  Constantine.” 

‘‘  Well,  you  have  replied  to  my  last  question  first ; but  I 
will  not  let  you  off  about  my  sometimes  bearish  countrymen. 
I do  assure  you,  the  race  of  the  Raleighs,  with  their  footstep 
cloaks,  is  quite  hors  de  combat ; and  so  don’t  you  think,  Mr. 
Constantine,  I may  call  them  so,  without  any  breach  of  good 
manners  to  them  or  duty  to  my  country  'i  For  you  see  her 
ladyship  hangs  much  upon  a spinster’s  patriotism  ? ” 

Lady  Tinemouth  shook  her  head. 

‘‘  O,  Sophia,  Sophia,  you  are  a strange  mad-cap.” 

‘‘  I don’t  care  for  that ; I will  have  Mr.  Constantine’s  un- 
prejudiced reply.  I am  sure,  if  he  had  taken  as  long  a time  in 
answering  your  call  as  he  does  mine,  the  ruffian  might  have 
killed  and  eaten  you  too  before  he  moved  to  your  assistance. 
Come,  may  I not  say  they  are  anything  but  well-bred  men  'I  ” 
Certainly.  A fair  lady  may  say  anything.” 

Positively,  Mr.  Constantine,  I won’t  endure  contempt  i 
Say  such  another  word,  and  I will  call  you  as  abominable  a 
creature  as  the  worst  of  them.” 

But  I am  not  a proper  judge.  Miss  Egerton.  I have  never 
been  in  company  with  any  of  these  men  \ so,  to  be  impartial,  I 
must  suspend  my  opinion.” 

And  not  believe  my  word  ! ” 

Thaddeus  smiled  and  bowed. 

“ There,  Lady  Tinemouth,”  cried  she,  affecting  pet,  ‘‘  take 
your  champion  to  yourself  ; he  is  no  preiix  chevalier  for  me  ? ” 
Thank  you,  Sophia,”  returned  her  ladyship,  giving  her 
hand  to  the  count  to  lead  her  to  the  supper-room.  This  is 
the  way  she  skirmishes  with  all  your  sex,  until  her  shrewd 
humor  transforms  them  to  its  own  likeness.” 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  167 

‘‘And  where  is  the  man/’  observed  Thaddeus,  “ who  would 
not  be  so  metamorphosed  under  the  spells  of  such  a Circe  ? ” 

“ It  won’t  do,  Mr.  Constantine,”  cried  she,  taking  her 
place  opposite  to  him  : my  anger  is  not  to  be  appeased  by 
callings  me  names  ; you  don’t  mend  the  compliment  by  likening 
me  to  a heathen  and  a witch.” 

Lady  Tinemouth  bore  her  part  in  the  conversation  in  a 
strain  more  in  unison  with  the  count’s  mind.  However,  he 
found  no  inconsiderable  degree  of  amusement  from  the  unre- 
flecting volubility  and  giddy  sallies  of  her  friend ; and,  on  the 
whole,  spent  the  two  hours  he  passed  there  with  some  percep- 
tions of  his  almost  forgotten  sense  of  pleasure. 

He  was  in  an  elegant  apartment,  in  the  company  of  two 
lovely  and  accomplished  women,  and  he  was  the  object  of  their 
entire  attention  and  gratitude.  He  had  been  used  to  this  in 
his  days  of  happiness,  when  he  was  “ the  expectancy  and  rose 
of  the  fair  state,  the  glass  of  fashion  and  the  mould  of  form, — 
the  observed  of  all  observers ! ” and  the  re-appearance  of  such 
a scene  awakened,  with  tender  remembrances,  an  associating 
sensibility  which  made  him  rise  with  regret  when  the  clock 
struck  eleven. 

Lady  Tinemouth  bade  him  good-night,  with  an  earnest  re- 
quest that  he  would  shortly  repeat  his  visit ; and  they  parted, 
mutually  pleased  with  each  other. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

FRIENDSHIP  A STAFF  IN  HUMAN  LIFE. 

Pleased  as  the  count  was  with  the  acquaintance  to  which 
his  gallantry  had  introduced  him,  he  did  not  repeat  his  visit  for 
a long  time. 

A few  mornings  after  his  meeting  with  Lady  Tinemouth,  the 
hard  frost  broke  up.  The  change  in  the  atmosphere  produced 
so  alarming  a relapse  of  the  general’s  rheumatic  fever,  that  his 
friend  watched  by  his  pillow  ten  days  and  nights.  At  the  end 
of  this  period  he  recovered  sufflciently  to  sit  up  and  read  or  to 
amuse  himself  by  registering  the  melancholy  events  of  the  last 
campaigns  in  a large  book,  and  illustrating  it  with  plans  of  the 
battles.  The  sight  of  this  volume  would  have  distressed  Thad- 
deus, had  he  not  seen  that  it  afforded  comfort  to  the  poor 


i68 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


veteran,  whom  it  transported  back  into  the  scenes  on  which  he  | 
delighted  to  dwell ; yet  he  would  often  lay  down  his  pen,  shut  i! 
the  book,  and  weep  like  an  infant.  i 

The  count  left  him  one  morning  at  his  employment,  and  I 
strolled  out,  with  the  intention  of  calling  on  Lady  Tinemouth. 
As  he  walked  along  by  Burlington  House,  he  perceived  Pem- 
broke Somerset,  with  an  elderly  gentleman,  of  a very  dis- 
tinguished air,  leaning  on  his  arm.  They  approached  him  from 
Bond  Street. 

All  the  blood  in  the  count’s  body  seemed  rushing  to  his 
heart.  He  trembled.  The  ingenuous  smile  on  his  friend’s 
countenance,  and  his  features  so  sweetly  marked  with  frank- 
ness, made  his  resolution  falter. 

‘‘  But  proofs,”  cried  he  to  himself,  ‘‘  are  absolute  1 ” apd 
turning  his  face  to  a stand  of  books,  that  was  near  him,  he 
stood  there  until  Somerset  had  passed.  He  went  past  him, 
speaking  these  words — 

I trust,  father,  that  ingratitude  is  not  his  vice.” 

But  it  is  yours,  Somerset ! ” murmured  Thaddeus,  while 
for  a moment  he  gazed  after  them,  and  then  proceeded  on  his 
walk. 

When  his  name  was  announced  at  Lady  Tinemouth’s,  he 
found  her  with  another  lady,  but  not  Miss  Egerton.  Lady 
Tinemouth  expressed  her  pleasure  at  this  visit,  and  her  surprise 
that  it  had  been  so  long  deferred.  ' 

‘‘  The  pain  of  such  an  apparent  neglect  of  your  ladyship’s  { 
goodness,”  replied  he,  “ has  been  added  to  my  anxiety  for  the  r 
declining  health  of  a friend,  whose  increased  illness  is  my 
apology.”  ! 

I wish,”  returned  her  ladyship,  her  eyes  beaming  appro- 
bation, that  all  my  friends  could  excuse  their  absence  so 
well ! ” 

Perhaps  they  might  if  they  chose,”  observed  the  other 
lady,  ‘‘  and  with  equal  sincerity.” 

Thaddeus  understood  the  incredulity  couched  under  these 
words.  So  did  Lady  Tinemouth,  who,  however,  rejoined,  Be 
satisfied,  Mr.  Constantine,  that  I believe  you.” 

The  count  bowed. 

‘‘  Fie,  Lady  Tinemouth  ! ” cried  the  lady  ; you  are  partial : 
nay,  you  are  absurd  ; did  you  ever  yet  hear  a man  speak  truth 
to  a woman  } ” 

Lady  Sara  ! ” replied  her  ladyship,  with  one  of  those  arch 
glances  which  seldom  visited  her  eyes,  where  will  be  your 
vanity  if  I assent  to  this  ? ” 


THADBEUS  OF  WARSA  IV. 


169 


In  the  moon,  v/ith  man’s  sincerity.*’ 

Thacldeus  paid  little  attention  to  this  dialogue.  His 
thoughts,  in  spite  of  himself,  were  wandering  after  the  figures 
of  Somerset  and  his  father. 

Lady  Tinemouth,  whose  fancy  had  not  been  quiet  about 
him  since  his  prompt  humanity  had  introduced  him  to  her  ac- 
quaintance, observed  his  present  absence  without  Jioticing  it. 
Indeed,  the  fruitful  imagination  of  Sophia  Egerton  had  not  lain 
still.  She  declared,  ‘‘he  was  a soldier  by  his  dress,  a man  of 
rank  from  his  manners,  an  Apollo  in  his  person,  and  a hero 
from  his  gallantry  ! ” 

Thus  had  Miss  Egerton  described  him  to  Lady  Sara  Ross  ; 
“ and,”  added  she,  “ what  convinces  me  he  is  a man  of  fashion, 
he  has  not  been  within  these  walls  since  we  told  him  we  should 
take  it  as  a favor.” 

Lady  Sara  was  eager  to  see  this  handsome  stranger  ; and 
having  determined  to  drop  in  at  Lady  Tinemouth’s  every 
morning  until  her  curiosity  was  gratified,  she  was  not  a little 
pleased  when  she  heard  his  name  announced. 

Lady  Sara  was  married ; but  she  was  young  and  of  great 
beaut}^  and  she  liked  that  its  power  should  be  acknowledged 
by  others  besides  her  husband.  The  instant  she  beheld  the 
Count  Sobieski,  she  formed  the  wish  to  entangle  him  in  her 
flowery  chains.  She  learnt,  by  his  pale  countenance  and 
thoughtful  air,  that  he  was  a melancholy  character;  and  above 
all  things,  she  sighed  for  such  a lover.  She  expected  to  re- 
ceive from  one  of  his  cast  a rare  tenderness  and  devotedness ; 
in  short,  a fervent  and  romantic  passion  ! — the  fashion  of  the 
day  ever  since  the  extravagant  French  romances,  such  as  Hel- 
phine  and  the  like,  came  in  ; and  this  unknown  foreigner  ap- 
peared to  her  to  be  the  very  creature  of  whom  her  fancy  had 
been  in  search.  His  abstraction,  his  voice  and  eyes,  the  one 
so  touching  and  the  other  so  neglectful  of  anything  but  the 
ground,  were  irresistible,  and  she  resolved  from  that  moment 
(in  her  own  words)  “to  make  a set  at  him.” 

Not  less  pleased  with  this  second  view  of  her  acquaintance 
than  she  had  been  at  the  first.  Lady  Tinemouth  directed  her 
discourse  to  him,  accompanied  by  all  that  winning  interest  so 
endearing  to  an  ingenuous  heart.  Lady  Sara  never  augured 
well  to  the  success  of  her  fascinations  when  the  countess  ad- 
dressed any  of  her  victims  ; and  therefore  she  now  tried  every 
means  in  her  power  to  draw  aside  the  attention  of  the  count. 
She  played  with  her  ladyship’s  dog  ; but  that  not  succeeding, 
she  determined  to  strike  him  at  once  with  the  full  graces  of 


170 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A IV. 


her  figure.  Complaining  of  heat,  she  threw  off  her  large  green 
velvet  mantle,  and  rising  from  her  chair,  walked  towards  the 
window. 

When  she  looked  round  to  enjoy  her  victory,  she  saw  that 
this  manoeuvre  had  failed  like  the  rest,  for  the  provoking 
countess  was  still  standing  between  her  and  Thaddeus.  Al- 
most angry,  she*  flung  open  the  sash,  and  putting  her  head  out 
of  the  window,  exclaimed,  in  her  best-modulated  tones  : 

How  d’ye  do  ? ” 

I hope  your  ladyship  is  well  this  fine  morning  ! ” was  an- 
swered in  the  voice  of  Pembroke  Somerset. 

Thaddeus  grew  pale,  and  the  countess  feeling  the  cold, 
turned  about  to  ask  Lady  Sara  to  whom  she  was  speaking. 

“ To  a pest  of  mine,”  returned  she  gayly ; and  then,  stretch- 
ing out  her  neck,  resumed  : ‘‘  but  where,  in  the  name  of  won- 
der, Mr.  Somerset,  are  you  driving  with  all  that  travelling 
apparatus  ? ” 

‘•To  Deerhurst  : I am  going  to  take  Lord  Avon  down.  But 
I keep  you  in  the  cold.  Good-morning  ! ” 

“ My  compliments  to  Sir  Robert.  Good-by  ! good-by  ! ” 
waving  her  white  hand  until  his  curricle  vanished  from  sight ; 
and  when  she  turned  round,  her  desires  were  gratified,  for  the 
elegant  stranger  was  standing  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  that  hand. 
But  had  she  known  that,  for  any  cognizance  they  took  of  its 
beauty,  they  might  as  well  have  been  fixed  on  vacancy,  she 
would  not  have  pulled  down  the  window,  and  reseated  herself 
with  such  an  air  of  triumph. 

The  count  took  his  seat  with  a sigh,  and  Lady  Tinemouth 
did  the  same. 

“ So  that  is  the  son  of  Sir  Robert  Somerset  ” 

“Yes,”  replied  Lady  Sara  ; “and  what  does  your  ladyship 
think  of  him  } He  is  called  very  handsome.” 

“ You  forget  that  I am  near-sighted,”  answered  the  count- 
ess ; “ I could  not  discriminate  his  features,  but  I think  his 
figure  fine.  I remember  his  father  was  a singularly-admired 
man,  and  celebrated  for  taste  and  talents.” 

“ That  may  be,”  resumed  Lady  Sara,  laughing,  and  anxious 
to  excite  some  emotion  of  rivalry  in  the  breast  of  Thaddeus. 
“ I am  sure  I ought  not  to  call  in  question  his  talents  and 
taste,  for  he  has  often  wished  that  fate  had  reserved  me  for 
his  son.”  She  sighed  while  she  spoke,  and  looked  down. 

This  sigh  and  gesture  had  more  effect  upon  her  victim  than 
all  her  exhibited  personal  charms.  So  difficult  is  it  to  break 
the  cords  of  affection  and  habit,  Anything  relating  to  Pern- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W, 


171 

broke  Somerset  could  yet  so  powerfully  interest  the  desolate 
yet  generous  Sobieski,  as  to  stamp  itself  on  his  features.  Be- 
sides, the  appearance  of  any  latent  disquietude,  where  all 
seemed  splendor  and  vivacity,  painfully  reminded  him  of  the 
checkered  lot  of  man.  His  eyes  were  resting  upon  her  lady- 
ship, full  of  a tender  commiseration,  pregnant  with  compassion 
for  her,  himself,  and  all  the  world,  when  she  raised  her  head. 
The  meeting  of  such  a look  from  him  filled  her  with  agitation. 
She  felt  something  strange  at  her  heart.  His  eyes  seemed  to 
have  penetrated  to  its  inmost  devices.  Blushing  like  scarlet, 
she  got  up  to  hide  an  embarrassment  not  to  be  subdued  ; and 
hastily  wishing  the  countess  a good-morning  curtseyed  to  him 
and  left  the  room. 

Her  ladyship  entered  her  carriage  with  feelings  all  in  com- 
motion. She  could  not  account  for  the  confusion  which  his 
look  had  occasioned  ; and  half  angry  at  a weakness  so  like  a 
raw,  inexperienced  girl,  she  determined  to  become  one  of  Lady 
Tinemouth’s  constant  visitors,  until  she  should  have  brought 
him  (as  she  had  done  most  of  the  men  in  her  circle)  to  her  feet. 

These  were  her  ladyship’s  resolutions,  while  she  rolled 
along  towards  St.  James’s  Place.  But  she  a little  exceeded 
the  fact  in  the  statement  of  her  conquests  ; for  notwithstand- 
ing she  could  have  counted  as  many  lovers  as  most  women, 
yet  few  of  them  would  have  ventured  the  folly  of  a kneeling 
petition.  In  spite  of  her  former  unwedded  charms,  these 
worthy  lords  and  gentlemen  had,  to  a man.  adopted  the  oracle 
of  the  poet — 

“ Love,  free  as  air,  at  sight  of  human  ties. 

Spreads  his  light  wings,  and  in  a moment  flies.” 

They  all  professed  to  adore  Lady  Sara;  some  were  caught  by 
her  beauty,  others  by  her  eclat^  but  none  had  the  most  distant 
wish  to  make  this  beauty  and  hlat  his  own  legal  property. 
For  she  had  no  other  property  to  bestow. 

The  young  Marquis  of  Severn  seemed  serious  towards  her 
ladyship  during  the  first  year  of  his  appearance  at  court ; but 
fat  the  end  of  that  time,  instead  of  offering  her  his  hand,  he 
Tiarried  the  daughter  of  a rich  banker. 

Lady  Sara  was  so  incensed  at  this  disappointment,  that,  to 
show  her  disdain  of  her  apostate  lover,  she  set  off  next  day 
.or  Gretna  Green,  with  Horace  Ross,  a young  and  early  cele- 
orated  commander  in  the  navy,  whose  honest  heart  had  been 
aome  time^  sueing  to  her  in  vain.  He  was  also  nephew  to  the 
Earl  of  Win  town.  They  were  married,  and  her  ladyship  had 


172 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


the  triumph  of  being  presented  as  a bride  the  same  day  with 
the  Marchioness  of  Severn. 

When  the  whirlwind  of  her  resentment  subsided,  she  began 
most  dismally  to  repent  her  union.  She  loved  Captain  Ross 
as  little  as  she  had  loved  Lord  Severn.  She  had  admired  the 
rank  and  fashion  of  the  one,  and  the  profound  adoration  of  the 
other  had  made  a friend  of  her  vanity.  But  now  that  her  re- 
venge was  gratified,  and  the  homage  of  a husband  ceased  to 
excite  the  envy  of  her  companions,  she  grew  weary  of  his  atten- 
tions, and  was  rejoiced  when  the  Admiralty  ordered  him  to 
take  the  command  of  a frigate  bound  to  the  Mediterranean. 

The  last  fervent  kiss  which  he  imprinted  on  her  lips,  as  she 
breathed  out  the  cold  ‘‘  Good-by,  Ross  ; take  care  of  yourself  ! ” 
seemed  to  her  the  seal  of  freedom  ; and  she  returned  into  her 
dressing-room,  not  to  weep,  but  to  exult  in  the  prospect  oi  a 
thousand  festivities  and  a thousand  captives  at  her  feet. 

Left  at  an  early  age  without  a mother,  and  ignorant  of  the 
duties  of  a wife,  she  thought  that  if  she  kept  her  husband  and 
herself  out  of  Doctor’s  Commons,  she  should  do  no  harm  by 
amusing  herself  with  the  heart  of  every  man  who  (?ame  in  her 
way.  Thus  she  hardly  moved  without  a train  of  admirers.  She 
had  already  attracted  everyone  she  deemed  worthy  of  the  trou- 
ble, and  listened  to  their  compliments,  and  insolent  presumptions, 
until  she  was  wearied  of  both.  In  this  juncture  of  ennui,,  MisS' 
Egerton  related  to  her  the  countess’s  recontre  with  the  gallant 
foreigner. 

As  soon  as  she  heard  he  was  of  rank,  (for  Miss  Egerton 
was  not  backward  to  affirm  the  dreams  of  her  own  imagination,) 
she  formed  a wish  to  see  him  ; and  when,  to  her  infinite  satis- 
faction, he  did  present  himself,  in  her  eyes  he  exceeded  every- 
thing that  had  been  described.  To  secure  such  a conquest, 
she  thought,  would  not  only  raise  the  envy  of  the  women,  but 
put  the  men  on  the  alert  to  discover  some  novel  and  attractive 
way  of  proving  their  devotion. 

Whilst  Lady  Sara  was  meditating  on  her  new  conquest,  the 
count  and  Lady  Tinemouth  remained  in  their  tete-a-tete.  Her 
ladyship  talked  to  him  on  various  subjects ; but  he  answered 
ill  upon  them  all,  and  sometimes  very  wide  of  the  matter.  At 
last,  conscious  that  he  must  be  burdensome,  he  arose,  and,! 
looking  paler  and  more  depressed  than  when  he  entered,  wished 
her  a good-morning. 

‘‘  I am  afraid,  Mr.  Constantine,  you  are  unwell.” 

Like  most  people  who  desire  to  hide  what  is  passing  m 
their  minds,  Thaddeus  gladly  assented  to  this,  as  an  excuse  foi 
a taciturnity  he  could  not  overcome. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAIV, 


173 

‘‘  Then/’  cried  her  ladyship,  ‘‘  I hope  you  will  let  me  know 
Adhere  to  send  to  inquire  after  your  health.” 

Thaddeus  was  confounded  for  a moment ; then,  returning 
' nto  the  room,  he  took  up  a pen,  which  lay  on  the  table,  and 
;aid, 

“ I will  write  my  address  to  a place  where  any  of  your  lady- 
ship’s commands  may  reach  me  ; but  I will  do  myself  the  honor 
0 repeat  my  call  very  soon.” 

“ I shall  always  be  happy  to  see  you,”  replied  the  countess, 
vhile  he  was  writing  ; “ but  before  I engage  you  in  a promise  of 
vhich  you  may  afterwards  repent,  I must  tell  you  that  you  will 
neet  with  dull  entertainment  at  my  house.  I see  very  little 
:ompany ; and  were  it  not  for  the  inexhaustible  spirits  of  Miss 
igerton,  I believe  I should  become  a complete  misanthrope.” 

“ Your  house  will  be  my  paradise  ! ” exclaimed  the  count, 
vith  an  expressiveness  to  the  force  of  which  he  did  not  imme- 
^liately  attend. 

Lady  Tinemouth  smiled. 

“ I must  warn  you  here,  too,”  cried  she.  . “ Miss  Egerton 
nust  not  be  the  deity  of  your  paradise.  She  is  already  under 
^mgagements.” 

Tnaddeus  blushed  at  being  mistaken,  and  wished  to  explain 
dmself. 

' You  misunderstand  me,  madam.  I am  not  insensible  to 
! )eauty  ; but  upon  my  word,  at  that  moment  I had  nothing  else 
n my  thoughts  than  gratitude  for  your  ladyship’s  kindness  to 
.n  absolute  stranger.” 

; “That  is  true,  Mr.  Constantine  : you  are  an  absolute  stran- 
ger, if  the  want  of  a formal  introduction  and  an  ignorance  of 
I our  family  constitute  that  title.  But  your  protection  intro- 
[Huced  you  to  me ; and  there  is  something  in  your  appearance 
l^diich  convinces  me  that  I need  not  be  afraid  of  admitting  you 
tnto  the  very  scanty  number  of  my  friends.” 
j Thaddeus  perceived  the  delicacy  of  Lady  Tinemouth,  who 
< vished  to  know  who  he  was,  and  yet  was  unwilling  to  give  him 
! »ain  by  a question  so  direct  that  he  must  answer  it.  As  she 
j' ow  proposed  it,  she  left  him  entirely  to  his  own  discretion; 
. nd  he  determined  to  satisfy  her  very  proper  curidsity,  as  far  as 
i;  e could  without  exposing  his  real  name  and  circumstances. 

!|  The  countess,  whose  benevolent  heart  was  deeply  interested 
: 1 his  favor,  observed  the  changes  of  his  countenance  with  an- 
H nxious  hope  that  he  would  be  ingenuous.  Her  solicitude  did 
I ot  arise  from  any  doubts  of  his  quality  and  worth,  but  she 
pVished  to  be  enabled  to  reply  with  promptness  to  the  inquisi- 
[ ive  people  who  might  see  him  at  her  house. 


174 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


‘‘  I hardly  know/'  said  Thaddeus,  “ in  what  words  to  ex- 
press my  sense  of  your  ladyship’s  generous  confidence  in  me  ; 
and  that  my  character  is  not  undeserving  of  such  distinction,  , 
time,  I trust,  will  prove.”  He  paused  for  a moment,  and  then  , 
resumed : “ For  my  rank.  Lady  Tinemouth,  it  is  now  of  little  ; 
consequence  to  my  comfort ; rather,  perhaps,  a source  of  mor- 
tification ; for ” he  hesitated,  and  then  proceeded,  with  a 

faint  color  tinging  his  cheek  : “ exiles  from  their  country,  if 
they  would  not  covet  misery,  must  learn  to  forget ; hence  I am 
no  other  than  Mr.  Constantine;  though,  in  acknowledgment  of 
your  ladyship’s  goodness,  I deem  it  only  just  that  I should  not 
conceal  my  real  quality  from  you. 

My  family  was  one  of  the  first  in  Poland.  Even  in  ban-  ^ 
ishment,  the  remembrance  that  its  virtues  were  as  well  known 
as  its  name,  affords  some  alleviation  to  the  conviction  that 
when  my  countr}^  fell,  all  iny^  property  and  all  my  kindred  weje 
involved  in  the  ruin.  Soon  after  the  dreadful  sealing  of  its 
fate,  I quitted  it,  and  by  the  command  of  a dying  parent,  yAio 
expired  in  my  arms,  sought  a refuge  in  this  island  from^degra- 
dations  which  otherwise  I could  neither  repel  nor  avoid.” 

Thaddeus  stopped  ; and  the  countess,  struck  by  the  grace- 
ful modesty’  with  which  this  siuiple  account  was  related,  laid  her 
hand  upon  his. 

Mr.  Constantine,  I am  not  surprised  at  what  you  have 
said.  The  melancholy  of  your  air  induced  me  to  suspect  that 
you  were  not  happy,  and  my  sole  wish  in  penetrating  your  re-, 
serve  was  to  show  vou  that  a woman  can  be  a sincere  friend.  ' 
Tears  of  gratitude  glistened  in  the  count’s  eyes.  ^ Incapable 
of  making  a suitable  reply,  he  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips.  She 
rose ; and  willing  to  relieve  a sensibility  that  delighted  her, 
added,  ‘‘  I will  "not  detain  you  longer  : only  let  me  see  you 

soon.”  • -i-' 

Thaddeus  uttered  a few  inarticulate  words,  whose^  signih-i 
cancy  conveyed  nothing,  but  all  he  felt  was  declared  in  their 
confusion.  The  countess’s  eloquent  smile  showed  that  she 
comprehended  their  meaning ; and  he  left  the  room. 


THADDEUS  OF  IVAFSAtV. 


175 


CHAPTER  XX. 
woman’s  kindness. 

On  the  count’s  return  home,  he  found  General  Butzou  in 
better  spirits,  still  poring  over  his  journal.  This  book  seemed 
to  be  the  representative  of  all  which  had  ever  been  dear  to  him. 
He  dwelt  upon  it  and  talked  about  it  with  a doating  eagerness 
bordering  on  insanity. 

These  symptoms,  increasing  from  day  to  day,  gave  his 
young  friend  considerable  uneasiness.  He  listened  with  pain 
to  the  fond  dreams  which  took  possession  of  the  poor  old  man, 
who  delighted  in  saying  that  much  might  yet  be  done  in  Poland 
when  he  should  be  recovered,  and  they  be  enabled  to  return 
together  to  Warsaw,  and  stimulate  the  people  to  resume^  their 
rights. 

Thaddeus  at  first  attempted  to  prove  the  emptiness  of  these 
schemes ; but  seeing  that  contradiction  on  this  head  threw  the 
general  into  deeper  despondency,  he  thought  it  better  to  affect 
the  same  sentiments,  too  well  perceiving  that  death  would  soon 
terminate  these  visions  with  the  venerable  dreamer’s  life. 

Accordingly,  as  far  as  lay  in  the  count’s  power,  he  satisfied 
all  the  fancied  wants  of  his  revered  friend,  who  on  every  other 
subject  was  perfectly  reasonable ; but  at  last  he  became  so 
absorbed  in  this  chimerical  plot,  that  other  conversation,  or 
his  meals,  seemed  to  oppress  him  with  restraint. 

When  Thaddeus  perceived  that  his  company  was  rather 
irksome  than  a comfort  to  his  friend,  he  the  more  readily  re- 
peated his  visits  to  Lady  Tinemouth.  She  now  looked  for  his 
appearance  at  least  once  a day.  If  ever  a morning  and  an 
evening  passed  away  without  his  appearance,  he  was  sure  of 
being  scolded  by  Miss  Egerton,  reproached  by  the  countess, 
and  frowned  at  by  Lady  Sara  Ross.  In  defiance  of  all  other 
engagements,  this  lady  contrived  to  drop  in  every  night  at 
Lady  Tinemouth’s.  Her  ladyship  was  not  more  surprised  at 
this  sudden  attachment  of  Lady  Sara  to  her  house  than  pleased 
with  her  society.  She  found  she  could  lay  aside  in  her  little 
circle  that  tissue  of  affectation  and  fashion  which  she  wore  in 
public,  and  really  became  a charming  woman. 

Though  Lady  Sara  was  vain,  she  was  mistress  of  sufficient 
sense  to  penetrate  with  tolerable  certainty  into  the  characters 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 


176 


of  her  acquaintance.  Most  of  the  young  men  with  whom  she 

had  hitherto  associated  having  lived  from  y^^^icStv  5 
amono-st  those  fashionable  assemblies  where  indiviauality 
absorbed  in  the  general  mass  of  insipidity,  she  saw  they  were 
frivolous,  though  obsequious  to  her,  or,  at  the  best,  warped  m 

taste,  if  not  in  principle  ; and  the  "belu^^^ 

to  subdue  them  were  suited  to  their  objects— her  bea  y, 
her  thoughtless,  or  her  cttprice.  But,  on 
she  formed  the  wish  to  entangle  such  a man  as  Thad 
deus  she  soon  discovered  that  to  engage  his  attention  she 
S appear  in  the  unaffected  graces  of  nature.  To  this  end 
she  took  pains  to  display  the  loveliness  of  ner  form  in  _ever> 
mover^enrand  position  • yet  she  managed  the  action  with  so 
inartificial  and  frank  an  air,  that  she  seemed  the  only 
present  who  was  unconscious  of  the  versatility  and  power  ^ 
her  charms.  She  conversed  with  good  sense  and  propriety. 
In  short  she  appeared  completely  different  from  the  gay,  ridic- 
ulous creature  he  had  seen  some  weeks  before  in  the  countess  s 

^^Ha^rlow  admired  both  her  person  and  her  mind  Her  wm-l 
nin?  softness  the  vivacity  of  Miss  Egerton,  and  the  kindness 
of  the  countess,  beguiled  him  many  an 

templation  of  melancholy  scenes  at  his  humble  and  anxious^ 

One  night  it  came  into  the  head  of  Sophia  Egerton  to  ban- 
ter him  about  his  military  dress.  “ Do,  for  heaven  ^ ^ake  my 
dear  Don  Quixote,”  cried  she  “let  us  see  you  out  of  y-. 
rustv  armor!  I declare  I grow  frightened  at  it.  And  i ca 
not  but  think  you  would  be  merrier  out  of  that  customary  sui 

'^ThiTdmmnd’was  not  pleasing  to  Thaddeus,  but  he  good- 

humoredly  replied,  “ I knew  not  till  you  were  so  kind  as  tq 
inform  me  that  a man’s  temper  depends  on  his  clothes.  , 

“ Else  I suppose,”  cried  she,  interrupting  m , y , 
would  have  changed  yours  before  ? 

will  do  as  I bid  you  now,  and  put  on  a Christian  s coat  aj,ai  . 

"^Th^lcLTwata^^^^^^^^^^  to  say;  he  only  bowed;  am 

the  countess  and  Lady  Sara  smiled  at  her  nonsense. 

^ When  they  parted^for  the  night,  this  Pf  t °f  the  convmsa 
tinn  massed  off  from  all  minds  but  that  of  Lady  1 memoutl 
sS:  copfderecl  ,l,e  m.bjec,  bp,  i” ^ 

hpr  p’av  companion.  Sophia  supposed  that 
Consmmme  wore  the  drees  of  hi,  copiury  because  „ wa 


THADDEUS  OF  IVAESAlV. 


177 


the  most  becoming.  But  as  such  a whim  did  not  correspond 
with  the  other  parts  of  his  character,  Lady  Tinemouth,  in  her 
own  mind,  attributed  this  adherence  to  his  national  habit  to 
the  right  cause. 

She  remarked  that  whenever  she  wished  him  to  meet  any 
agreeable  people  at  her  house,  he  always  declined  these  intro- 
ductions under  the  plea  of  his  dress,  though  he  never  proposed 
to  alter  it.  This  conduct,  added  to  his  silence  on  every  sub- 
ject which  elated  to  the  public  amusements  about  town,  led 
her  to  conclude,  that,  like  the  banished  nobility  of  France  he 
was  encountering  the  various  inconveniences  of  poverty  in  a 
foreign  land.  She  hoped  that  he  had  escaped  its  horrors ; 
but  she  could  not  be  certain,  for  he  always  shifted  the  conver- 
sation when  it  too  closely  referred  to  himself. 

These  observations  haunted  the  mind  of  Lady  Tinemouth, 
and  made  her  anxious  to  contrive  some  opportunity  in  which 
she  might  have  this  interesting  Constantine  alone,  and  by  a 
proper  management  of  the  discourse,  lead  to  some  avowal  of 
his  real  situation.  Hitherto  her  benevolent  intentions  had 
been  frustrated  by  various  interruptions  at  various  times.  In- 
deed, had  she  been  actuated  by  mere  curiosity,  she  would 
longago  have  resigned  the  attempt  as  fruitless ; but  pity  and 
esteem  kept  her  watchful  until  the  very  hour  in  which  her  con- 
siderate heart  was  fully  satisfied. 

One  morning,  when  she  was  writing  in  her  cabinet,  a ser- 
vant informed  her  that  Mr.  Constantine  was  below.  Pleased 
at  this  circumstance,  she  took  advantage  of  a slight  cold  that 
affected  her ; and  hoping  to  draw  something  out  of  him  in  the 
course  of  a tete-a-tete^  begged  he  would  favor  her  by  coming  into 
her  private  room. 

When  he  entered,  she  perceived  that  he  looked  more  pen- 
sive than  usual.  He  sat  down  by  her,  and  expressed  his  con- 
cern at  her  indisposition.  She  sighed  heavily,  but  remained 
silent.  Her  thoughts  were  too  much  occupied  with  her  kind 
plan  to  immediately  form  a reply.  She  had  determined  to  give 
him  a cursory  idea  of  her  own  unhappiness,  and  thus,  by  her 
confidence,  attract  him. 

‘‘  I hope  Miss  Egerton  is  well  ? inquired  he. 

‘‘  Very  well,  Mr.  Constantine.  A heart  at  ease  almost  ever 
keeps  the  body  in  health.  May  she  long  continue  as  happy 
as  at  this  period,  and  never  know  the  disappointments  of  her 
friend ! '' 

He  looked  at  the  countess. 

“ It  is  true,  my  dear  sir,’^  continued  she.  ‘‘  It  is  hardly 

2 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


178 

probable  that  the  mere  effect  of  thirty-seven  years  could  have 
made  the  inroads  on  my  person  which  you  see  : but  sorrow 
has  done  it ; and  with  all  the  comforts  you  behold  around  me, 
I am  miserable.  I have  no  joy  independent  of  the  few  friends 
which  Heaven  has  preserved  to  me  ; and  yet/’  added  she,  I 
have  another  anxiety  united  with  those  of  which  I complain ; 
some  of  my  friends,  who  afford  me  the  consolation  I mention, 
deny  me  the  only  return  in  my  power,  the  office  of  sharing 
their  griefs.” 

Thaddeus  understood^the  expression  of  her  ladyship’s  eye 
and  the  tenderness  of  her  voice  as  she  uttered  these  words. 
He  saw  to  whom  the  kind  reproach  was  directed,  and  he  looked 
down  confused  and  oppressed. 

The  countess  resumed. 

‘‘  I cannot  deny  what  your  countenance  declares  ; you  think 
I mean  you.  I do,  Mr.  Constantine.  I have  marked  your^ 
melancholy  ; I have  weighed  other  circumstances  ; and  I am 
sure  that  you  have  many  things  to  struggle  with  besides  the 
regrets  which  must  ever  hang  about  the  bosom  of  a brave  man 
who  has  witnessed  the  destruction  of  his  country.  Forgive  me, 
if  I give  you  pain,”  added  she,  observing  his  heightening  color. 
“ I speak  from  real  esteem ; I speak  to  you  as  I would  to  my 
own  son  were  he  in  your  situation.” 

‘‘  My  dearest  madam  ! ” cried  Thaddeus,  overcome  by  her 
benevolence,  “you  have  judged  rightly;  I have  many  things 
to  struggle  with.  I have  a sick  friend  at  home,  whom  misfor- 
tune hath  nearly  bereft  of  reason,  and  whose  wants  are  now  so 
complicated  and  expensive,  that  never  till  now  did  I know  the 
complete  desolation  of  a man  without  a country  or  a profession. 
For  myself.  Lady  Tinemouth,  adversity  has  few  pangs ; but 
for  my  friend,  for  an  old  man  whose  deranged  faculties  have 
forgotten  the  change  in  my  affairs,  he  who  leans  on  me  for 
support  and  comfort, — it  is  this  that  must  account  to  your  lady- 
ship for  those  inconsistencies  in  my  manner  and  spirits  which 
are  so  frequently  the  subjdct  of  Miss  Egerton’s  raillery.” 

Thaddeus,  in  the  course  of  this  short  and  rapid  narrative, 
gradually  lowered  the  tone  of  his  voice,  and  at  the  close 
covered  his  face  with  his  hand.  He  had  never  before  confided 
the  history  of  his  embarrassments  to  any  creature ; and  he 
thought  (notwithstanding  the  countess’s  solicitations)  he  had 
committed  an  outrage  on  the  firmness  of  his  character  by  hav- 
ing in  any  way  acknowledged  the  weight  of  his  calamities. 

Lady  Tinemouth  considered  a few  minutes,  and  then  ad- 
dressed him. 


THADDEUS  OF  WAESAW. 


179 

I should  ill  repay  this  generous  confidence,  my  noble  young 
riend,  were  I to  hesitate  a moment  in  forming  some  plan  which 
nay  prove  of  service  to  you.  You  have  told  me  no  more,  Mr. 
C:onstantine,  than  I suspected.  And  I had  something  in  view.” 
-lere  the  countess  stopped,  expecting  that  her  auditor  would 
iiterrupt  her.  He  remained  silent,  and  she  proceeded  : ‘‘  You 
;poke  of  a profession,  of  an  employment.” 

“ Yes,  madam,”  returned  he,  taking  his  hands  from  his  eyes  ; 
' I should  be  glad  to  engage  in  any  profession  or  employment 
'ou  would  recommend.” 

‘‘  I have  little  interest,”  answered  her  ladyship,  ‘‘  with  people 
n power ; therefore  I cannot  propose  anything  which  will  in  any 
legree  suit  with  your  rank ; but  the  employment  that  I have  in 
iew,  several  of  the  most  illustrious  French  nobility  have  not 
lisdained  to  execute.” 

“ Do  not  fear  to  mention  it  to  me,”  cried  the  count,  perceiv- 
ng  her  reluctance  ; I would  attempt  anything  that  is  not  dis- 
lonorable,  to  render  service  to  my  poor  friend.” 

‘‘Well,  then,  would  you  have  any  objection  to  teach  lan- 
;uages  ” 

Thaddeus  immediately  answered,  “ Oh,  no  ! I should  be 
lappy  to  do  so.” 

“ Then,”  replied  she,  greatly  relieved  by  the  manner  in  which 
le  received  her  proposal,  “I  will  now  tell  you  that  about  a week 
go  I paid  a visit  to  Lady  Dundas,  the  widow  of  Sir  Hector  Dun- 
las,  the  rich  East  Indian  director.  Whilst  I was  there,  I heard 
ler  talking  with  her  two  daughters  about  finding  a proper  mas- 
er to  teach  them  German.  That  language  has  become  a very 
ashionable  accomplishment  amongst  literary  ladies  ; and  Miss 
lundas,  being  a member  of  the  Ifiue-stocking  Club,=^  had  de- 
lared  her  resolution  to  make  a new  translation  of  Werter. 
.ady  Dundas  expressed  many  objections  against  the  vulgarity 
»f  various  teachers  whom  the  young  ladies  proposed,  and  ended 
nth  saying  that  unless  some  German  gentleman  could  be  found, 
hey  must  remain  ignorant  of  the  language.  Your  image  in- 
tantly  shot  across  my  mind  ; and  deeming  it  a favorable  oppor- 
unit}^,  I told  her  ladyship  that  if  she  could  wait  a few  days,  I 
A'ould  sound  a friend  of  mine,  who  I knew,  if  he  would  conde- 
cend  to  take  the  trouble,  must  be  the  most  eligible  person  im- 
Lginable.  Lady  Dundas  and  the  girls  gladly  left  the  affair  to 
^ ne,  and  I now  propose  it  to  you.” 

* u real  name  given  at  the  time  to  Mrs.  Montague’s  celebrated  literery  par- 

ses, held  at  her  house  in  Portman  Square.  The  late  venerable  Sir  William  Pepys  was  on« 

I £ their  last  survivors. 


i8o  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 

And  I/’  replied  he,  “ with  a thousand  thanks,  accept  the 
task.’^ 

‘‘  Then  I will  make  the  usual'  arrangements,’’  returned  lier 
ladyship,  and  send  you  the  result.” 

After  half  an  hour’s  further  conversation,  Lady  Tinemoum 
became  more  impressed  with  the  unsophisticated  delicacy  and 
dignity  of  the  count’s  mind  ; and  he,  more  grateful  than  utter- 
ance could  declare,  left  his  respects  for  Miss  Egerton,  and  took 
his  leave. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

FASHIONABLE  SKETCHES  FROM  THE  LIFE. 

Next  morning,  whilst  Thaddeus  was  vainly  explaining  to  the 
general  that  he  no  longer  possessed  a regiment  of  horse,  which 
the  poor  old  man  wanted  him  to  order  out,  to  try  the  success  of 
some  manoeuvres  he  had  been  devising,  little  Nanny  brought  in 
a letter  from  Slaughter’s  Coffee-house,  where  he  had  noted  Lady 
Tinemouth  to  direct  it  to  him.*  He  opened  it,  and  found 
these  contents  : — 

‘‘  My  dear  Sir, 

So  anxious  was  I to  terminate  the  affair  with  Lady  Dun- 
das,  that  I went  to  her  house  last  night.  I affirmed  it  as  a 
great  obligation  that  you  would  undertake  the  trouble  to  teach 
her  daughters ; and  I insist  that  you  do  not,  from  any  romantic 
ideas  of  candor,  invalidate  what  I have  said.  I know  the  world 
too  well  not  to  be  convinced  of  the  truth  of  Dr.  Goldsmith’s 
maxim, — ‘ If  you  be  poor,  do  not  seem  poor,  if  you  would  avoid 
insult  as  well  as  suffering.’ 

“ I told  Miss  Dundas  that  you  had  undertaken  the  task  solely 
at  my  persuasion,  and  that  I could  not  propose  other  terms  than 
a guinea  for  two  lessons.  She  is  rich  enough  for  any  expense, 
and  made  no  objection  to  my  demand  ; besides,  she  presented 
the  enclosed,  by  way  of  entrance-money.  It  is  customary. 
Thus  I have  settled  all  preliminaries,  and  you  are  to  commence 
your  first  lesson  on  Monday,  at  two  o’clock.  But  before  then, 
pray  let  me  see  you. 

‘‘  Cannot  you  dine  with  us  on  Sunday  ? A sabbath  privi- 
lege ! to  speak  of  good  is  blameless.  I have  informed  Miss 

* This  respectable  hotel  still  exists,  near  the  top  of  St.  Martin’s  Lane.— 1845. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


l8l 


Egerton  of  as  much  of  the  affair  as  I think  necessary  to  account 
for  your  new  occupation.  In  short,  gay  in  spirits  as  she  is,  I 
thought  it  most  prudent  to  say  as  little  to  her  and  to  Lady  Sara 
as  I have  done  to  the  Dundases  ; therefore,  do  not  be  uneasy 
on  that  head. 

Come  to-morrow,  if  not  before,  and  you  will  give  real  pleas- 
ure to  your  sincere  friend, 

“ Adeliza  Tinemouth. 

“ Saturday  Morning,  Grosvenor  Place.” 

Truly  grateful  to  the  active  friendship  of  the  countess,  and 
looking  at  the  general,  who  appeared  perfectly  happy  in  the 
prosecution  of  his  wild  schemes,  Thaddeus  inwardly  exclaimed. 
By  these  means  I shall  at  least  have  it  in  my  power  to  procure 
the  assistance  which  your  melancholy  state  my  revered  friend, 
requires.” 

On  opening  the  enclosed,  which  her  ladyship  mentioned,  he 
found  it  to  be  a bank  note  for  ten  pounds.  Both  the  present 
and  its  amount  gave  him  pain  : not  having  done  any  service  yet 
to  the  donor,  he  regarded  the  money  more  as  a gift  than  as  a 
bond  of  engagement.  However,  he  found  that  this  delicacy, 
with  many  other  painful  repugnances,  must  at  this  moment  be 
laid  aside  ; and,  without  further  self-torment,  he  consigned  the 
money  to  the  use  for  which  he  felt  aware  the  countess  had 
wished  it  to  be  applied,  namely,  to  provide  himself  with  an  Eng- 
lish dress. 

During  these  various  reflections,  he  did  not  leave  Lady  Tine- 
mouth’s  letter  unanswered.  He  thanked  her  sincerely  for  her 
zeal,  but  declined  dining  with  her  the  next  day,  on  account  of 
leaving  his  poor  friend  so  long  alone  ; though  he  promised  to 
come  in  the  evening  when  he  should  be  retired  to  rest. 

This  excuse  was  regretted  by  none  more  than  Lady  Sara 
Ross,  who,  having  heard  from  Lady  Tinemouth  that  she  expected 
Mr.  Constantine  to  dinner  on  a Sunday,  invited  herself  to  be 
one  of  the  party.  She  had  now  seen  him  constantly  for  nearly 
a month,  and  found,  to  her  amazement,  that  in  seeking  to  be- 
guile him,  she  had  only  ensnared  herself.  Every  word  he  ut- 
tered penetrated  to  her  heart ; every  glance  of  his  eyes  shook 
her  frame  like  electricity. 

She  had  now  no  necessity  to  affect  softness.  A young  and 
unsuspected  passion  had  stolen  into  her  bosom,  and  imparted 
to  her  voice  and  countenance  all  its  subtle  power  to  enchant 
and  to  subdue.  Thaddeus  was  not  insensible  to  this  gentle  fas- 
cination j for  it  appeared  to  his  ingenuous  nature  to  be  uncon- 


i82 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


sciously  shown,  and  from  under  ‘‘veiled  lids/’  He  looked  on 
her  as  indeed  a lovely  woman,  who,  with  a touching  delicacy,  he 
observed,  often  tried  to  stifle  sigh  after  sigh,  which,  fluttering, 
rose  to  her  silent  lips.  Thus,  as  silently  remarking  her,  he  be- 
came deeply  interested  in  her;  for  he  believed  her  yearning 
heart  then  thought  of  her  gallant  husband,  far,  far  at  sea.  So 
had  been  his  conclusion  when  he  first  noticed  these  demonstra- 
tions of  an  inward  unuttered  sensibility.  But  in  a little  while 
afterwards,  when  those  veiled  lids  were  occasionally  raised,  and 
met  his  compassionate  gaze,  she  mistook  the  nature  of  its  ex- 
pression ; and  her  responsive  glance,  wild  with  ecstacy,  returned 
him  one  that  darted  astonishment,  with  an  appalling  dread  of  his 
meaning,  through  his  every  vein.  But  on  his  pillow  the  same 
night,  when  he  reflected  on  what  he  had  felt  on  receiving  so 
strange  a look  from  a married  woman,  and  one,  too,  whom  he 
believed  to  be  a virtuous  one  ! he  could  not,  he  would  not,  sup- 
pose it  meant  anything  to  him  ; and  ashamed  of  even  the  idea 
having  entered  his  head,  he  crushed  it  at  once,  indignant  at  hiip- 
self.  Though,  whenever  he  subsequently  met  her  at  Lady  Tine- 
mouth’s,  he  could  not  help,  as  if  by  a natural  impulse,  avoiding 
the  encountering  of  her  eyes. 

In  the  course  of  conversation  at  dinner,  on  the  day  Thad- 
deus  had  been  expected  by  Lady  Tinemouth,  in  a tone  of  pleas- 
ure she  mentioned  that  she  had  conferred  a great  favor  on  her 
young  cousins,  the  Misses  Dundas,  by  having  prevailed  on  Mr. 
Constantine  to  undertake  the  trouble  of  teaching  them  German. 
Lady  Sara  could  not  conceal  her  vexation,  nor  her  wonder  at 
Lady  Tinemouth’s  thinking  of  such  a thing  ; and  she  uttered 
something  like  angry  contempt  at  acquiescence,  while  inwardly 
she  hated  her  former  old  friend  for  having  made  the  proposal. 

Miss  Egerton  laughed  at  the  scrape  into  which  Lady  Tine- 
mouth  had  brought  his  good  nature,  and  declared  she  would 
tell  him  next  time  she  saw  him  what  a mulish  pair  of  misses 
he  had  presumed  to  manage. 

It  was  the  youngest  of  these  misses  that  excited  Lady  Sara’s 
displeasure.  Euphemia  Dundas  was  very  pretty ; she  had  a 
large  fortune  at  her  disposal ; and  what  might  not  such  united 
temptations  effect  on  the  mind  of  a man  exposed  every  day  to 
her  habitual  flirtation  ? Stung  with  jealousy.  Lady  Sara  caught 
at  a slight  intimation  of  his  possibly  c'^ming  in  before  the  even- 
ing should  close.  Rallying  her  smiles,  she  resolved  to  make 
one  more  essay  on  his  relapsed  insensibility,  before  she  beheld 
him  enter  scenes  so  likely  to  extinguish  her  hopes.  Hopes  of 
what?  She  never  allowed  herself  to  inquire.  She  knew  that 


THADDEdS  OF  JVARSAIV, 


183 

she  never  had  loved  her  husband,  that  now  she  detested  him, 
and  was  devoted  to  another.  To  be  assured  of  a reciprocal 
passion  from  that  other,  she  believed  was  the  extent  of  her 
wish.  Thinking  that  she  held  her  husband’s  honor  safe  as 
her  life,  she  determined  to  do  what  she  pleased  with  her 
heart.  Her  former  admirers  were  now  neglected ; and,  to 
the  astonishment  and  admiration  of  the  graver  part  of  her  ac- 
quaintance, she  had  lately  relinquished  all  the  assemblies  in 
which  she  had  so  recently  been  the  brightest  attraction,  to 
seclude  herself  by  the  domestic  fireside  of  the  Countess  of 
Tinemouth. 

Thus,  whilst  the  world  were  admiring  a conduct  they  sup- 
posed would  give  a lasting  happiness  to  herself  and  to  her  hus- 
band, she  was  cherishing  a passion  which  might  prove  the  de- 
struction of  both. 

On  Sunday  evening,  Thaddeus  entered  Lady  Tinemouth 's 
drawing-room  just  as  Miss  Egerton  seated  herself  before  the 
tea  equipage.  At  sight  of  him  she  nodded  her  head,  and  called 
him  to  sit  by  her.  Lady  Tinemouth  returned  the  grateful  press- 
ure of  his  hand.  Lady  Sara  received  him  with  a palpitating 
heart,  and  stooped  to  remove  something  that  seemed  to  incom 
mode  her  foot ; but  it  was  only  a feint,  to  hide  the  blushes 
which  were  burning  on  her  cheek.  No  one  observed  her  con- 
fusion. So  common  is  it  for  those  who  are  the  constant  wit- 
nesses of  our  actions  to  be  the  most  ignorant  of  their  expres- 
sion and  tendency. 

Thaddeus  could  not,  in  spite  of  himself,  be  so  uninformed, 
and  he  gladly  obeyed  a second  summons  from  the  gay  Sophia, 
and  drew  his  chair  close  to  hers. 

Lady  Sara  observed  his  motions  with  a pang  she  could  not 
conceal  ; and  pulling  her  seat  as  far  from  the  opposite  side  as 
possible,  began  in  silence  to  sip  her  tea. 

“Ye  powers  of  gallantry  ! ” suddenly  exclaimed  Miss  Eger- 
ton, pushing  away  the  table,  and  lifting  her  eye-glass  to  her 
eye,  “ I declare  I have  conquered  ! Look,  Lady  Tinemouth  ; 
look.  Lady  Sara  ! If  Mr.  Constantine  does  not  better  become 
this  English  dress  than  his  Polish  horribles  did  him,  drown  me 
for  a witch  ! ” 

“You  see  I have  obeyed  you,  madam,”  returned  Thaddeus 
smiling. 

“ Ah  ! you  are  in  the  right.  Most  men  do  that  cheerfully, 
when  they  know  they  gain  by  the  bargain.  Now,  you  look  like 
a Christian  man  ; before,  you  always  reminded  me  of  some 
stalking  hero  in  a tragedy.” 


184 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


Yes/’ cried  Lady  Sara,  forcing  a smile;  “ and  now  you 
have  given  him  a striking  resemblance  to  George  Barnwell ! ” 

Sophia,  who  did  not  perceive  the  sarcasm  couched  under 
this  remark,  good-humoredly  replied  : 

“ May  be  so.  Lady  Sara  ; but  I don’t  care  for  his  black  suit: 
obedience  was  the  thing  I wanted,  and  I have  it  in  the  present 
appearance.” 

‘‘  Pray,  Lady  Tinemouth,”  asked  her  ladyship,  seeking  to 
revenge  herself  on  his  alacrity  to  obey  Miss  Egerton,  ‘‘  what 
o’clock  is  it  ? I have  promised  to  be  at  Lady  Sarum’s  concert 
by  ten.” 

“ It  is  not  nine,”  returned  the  countess ; besides,  this  is 
the  first  time  I have  heard  of  your  engagement.  I hoped  you 
would  have  spent  all  the  evening  with  us.” 

No,”  answered  Lady  Sara,  ‘‘  I cannot.”  And  ringing  the 
bell,  she  rose. 

“ Bless  me.  Lady  Sara  !”  cried  Miss  Egerton,  ‘^you  are  not 
going  ? Don’t  you  hear  that  it  is  little  rnore  than  eight  o’clock  ? ” 

Busying  herself  in  tying  her  cloak.  Lady  Sara  affected  not 
to  hear  her,  and  told  the  servant  who  opened  the  door  to  order 
her  carriage. 

Surprised  at  this  precipitation,  but  far  from  guessing  the 
cause,  Lady  Tinemouth  requested  Mr.  Constantime  to  see  her 
ladyship  down  stairs. 

“ I would  rather  not,”  cried  she,  ‘Gn  a quick  voice  ; and 
darting  out  of  the  room,  was  followed  by  Thaddeus,  who  came 
up  with  her  just  as  she  reached  the  street  door.  He  hastened 
to  assist  her  into  the  carriage,  and  saw  by  the  light  of  the  flam- 
beaux her  face  streaming  with  tears.  He  had  already  extended 
his  hand,  when,  instead  of  accepting  it,  she  pushed  it  from  her, 
and  jumped  into  the  carriage,  crying  in  an  indignant  tone,  ‘‘  To 
Berkeley  Square.”  He  remained  for  a few  minutes  looking  after 
her ; then  returned  into  the  house,  too  well  able  to  translate 
the  meaning  of  all  this  petulance. 

When  he  reascended  the  stairs.  Lady  Tinemouth  expressed 
her  wonder  at  the  whimsical  departure  of  her  friend  ; but  as 
Thaddeus  (who  was  really  disturbed)  returned  a vague  reply, 
the  subject  ended. 

Miss  Egerton,  who  hardly  thought  two  minutes  on  the  same 
thing,  sent  away  the  tea-board,  and,  sitting  down  by  him,  ex- 
claimed,— 

‘‘  Mr.  Constantine,  I hold  it  right  that  no  man  should  be 
thrown  into  a den  of  wild  creatures  without  knowing  what  sort 
of  animals  he  must  meet  there.  Hence,  as  I find  you  have 


THADDEUS  OF  IVARSA  W, 


undertaken  the  taming  of  that  ursa  major  Lady  Dundas,  and 
her  pretty  cubs,  I must  give  you  a taste  of  their  quality.  Will 
you  hear  me  ? 

Certainly.’’ 

Will  you  attend  to  my  advice  ? 

If  I like  it.” 

^ Ha  ! ” replied  she,  returning  his  smile  with  another  ; “ that 
•is  just  such  an  answer  as  I would  have  made  myself,  so  I won’t 
quarrel  with  you.  Lady  Tinemouth,  you  will  allow  me  to  draw 
your  kinsfolks’  pictures.^  ” 

‘‘  Yes,  Sophia,  provided  you  don’t  make  them  caricatures. 
Remember,  your  candor  is  at  stake  ; to-morrow  Mr.  Constan- 
tine will  judge  for  himself.” 

'‘  And  I am  sure  he  will  agree  with  me.  Now,  Lady  Dun- 
das, if  you  please  ! I know  your  ladyship  is  a great  stickler 
for  precedence.” 

Lady  Tinemouth  laughed,  and  interrupted  her — 

" I declare,  Sophia,  you  are  a very  daring  girl.  What  do 
you  not  risk  by  giving  way  to  this  satirical  spirit  ? ” 

"Not  anybody’s  love  that  I value.  Lady  Tinemouth  : you 
know  that  I never  daub  a fair  character  ; Mr.  Constantine  takes 
me  on  your  credit ; and  if  you  mean  Charles  Montresor,  he  is 
as  bad  as  myself,  and  dare  not  for  his  life  have  any  qualms.” 

"Well,  well,  proceed,”  cried  her  ladyship;  " I will  not  in- 
terrupt 3'Ou  again.” 

" Then,”  resumed  she,  " I must  begin  with  Lady  Dundas. 
In  proper  historical  style,  I shall  commence  with  her  birth, 
parentage,  and  education.  For  the  first,  my  father  remembers 
her  when  she  W3.s  damoise//e  aVio/mour  to  Judge  Sefton’s  lady 
at  Surat,  and  soon  after  her  arrival  there,  this  pretty  Abigail 
by  some  means  captivated  old  Hector  Dundas,  (then  governor 
af  the  province,)  who  married  her.  When  she  returned  in  tri- 
amph  to  England,  she  coaxed  her  foolish  husband  to  appro- 
ariate  some  of  his  rupee  riches  to  the  purchase  of  a baronet- 
ige.  I suppose  the  appellation  Mispress  put  her  in  mind  of  her 
:i-devant  abigailship  ; and  in  a fond  hour  he  complied,  and  she 
aecame  Afy  Lady.  1 hat  over.  Sir  Hector  had  nothing  more 
)bliging  to  do  in  this  world  but  to  clear  her  wa}^  to  perhaps  a 
:oronet.  He  was  so  good  as  to  think  so  himself  : and,  to  add 
o former  obligations,  had  the  civility  to  walk  out  of  it ; for  one 
light,  whether  he  had  been  dreaming  of  his  feats  in  India,  or 
)f  a review  of  his  grand  entry  into  his  governorship  palace,  I 
annot  affirm,  but  he  marched  out  of  his  bed  room  window  and 
iroke  his  neck.  Ever  since  that  untoward  event,  Lady  Dun- 


i86 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


das  has  exhibited  the  finest  parties  in  town.  Everybody  goes 
to  see  her,  but  whether  in  compliment  to  their  own  taste  or  to 
her  silver  muslins,  I don't  know  ; for  there  are  half  a dozen 
titled  ladies  of  her  acquaintance  who,  to  my  certain  knowledge, 
have  not  bought  a ball-dress  this  twelvemonth.  Well,  how  do 
you  like  Lady  Dundas  ? " 

“ I do  not  like  your  sketch,"  replied  Thaddeus,  with  an 
unconscious  sigh. 

Come,  don't  sigh  about  my  veracity,"  interrupted  Miss 
Egerton  ; ‘‘  I do  assure  you  I should  have  been  more  correct 
had  I been  more  severe ; for  her  Indian  ladyship  is  as  ill- 
natured  as  she  is  ill-bred,  and  is  as  presumptuous  as  ignorant ; 
in  short  she  is  a fit  mamma  for  the  delectable  Miss  Dundas, 
whose  descriotion  you  shall  have  in  two  questions.  Can  you 
imagine  Socrates  in  his  wife's  petticoats  ? Can  you  imagine  a 
pedant,  a scold,  and  a coquette  in  one  woman?  If  you  can, 
you  have  a foretaste  of  Diana  Dundas.  She  is  large  and  ugly, 
and  thinks  herself  delicate  and  handsome ; she  is  self-willed 
and  arrogant,  and  believes  herself  wise  and  learned  ; and,  to 
sum  up  all,  she  is  the  most  malicious  creature  breathing." 

“ My  dear  Sophia,"  cried  Lady  Tinemouth,  alarmed  at  the 
effect  such  high  coloring  might  have  on  the  mind  of  Thaddeus  ; 
‘‘  for  heaven's  sake  be  temperate  ! I never  heard  you  so  un- 
becomingly harsh  in  my  life." 

Miss  Egerton  peeped  archly  in  her  face. 

‘‘Are  you  serious.  Lady  Tinemouth?  You  know  that  I 
would  not  look  unbecoming  in  your  eyes.  Besides,  she  is  no 
real  relation  of  yours.  Come,  shake  hands  with  me,  and  I will 
be  more  merciful  to  the  gentle  Euphemia,  for  I intend  that  Mr. 
Constantine  shall  be  her  favorite.  Won't  you  ? " cried  she, 
resigning  her  ladyship's  hand.  Thaddeus  shook  his  head.  “ I 
don’t  understand  your  Lord  Burleigh  nods  ; answer  me  in 
words,  when  I have  finished  : for  I am  sure  you  will  delight  in 
the  zephyr  smiles  of  so  sweet  a fairy.  She  is  so  tiny  and  so 
pretty,  that  I never  see  her  without  thinking  of  some  gay  little 
trinket,  all  over  precious  stones.  Her  eyes  are  two  diamond 
sparks,  melted  into  lustre ; and  her  teeth,  seed  pearl,  lying 
between  rubies.  So  much  for  the  casket ; but  for  the  quality 
of  the  jewel  within,  I leave  you  to  make  the  discovery." 

Miss  Egerton  having  run  herself  out  of  breath,  suddenly 
stopped.  Seeing  that  he  was  called  upon  to  say  something, 
Thaddeus  made  an  answer  which  only  drew  upon  him  a new 
volley  of  raillery.  Lady  Tinemouth  tried  to  avert  it,  but  she 
failed  ; and  Sophia  continued  talking  with  little  interruption 
until  the  party  separated  for  the  night. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


187 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

HONORABLE  RESOURCES  OF  AN  EXILE. 

Now  that  the  count  thought  himself  secure  of  the  means  of 
payment,  he  sent  for  a physician,  to  consult  him  respecting  the 
state  of  the  general.  When  Dr.  Cavendish  saw  and  conversed 
with  the  venerable  Butzou,  he  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  his 
malady  was  chiefly  on  the  nerves,  and  had  originated  in  grief. 

“ I can  too  well  suppose  it,’^  replied  Thaddeus. 

“Then,”  rejoined  the  physician,  “I  fear,  sir,  that  unless  I 
know  something  of  its  cause,  my  visits  will  prove  almost  use- 
less.” 

The  count  was  silent.  The  doctor  resumed — 

■ “ I shall  be  grieved  if  his  sorrows  be  of  too  delicate  a 
nature  to  be  trusted  with  a man  of  honor ; for  in  these  cases, 
unless  we  have  some  knowledge  of  the  springs  of  the  derange- 
ment, we  lose  time,  and  perhaps  entirely  fail  of  a cure.  Our 
discipline  is  addressed  both  to  the  body  and  the  mind  of  the 
patient.” 

Thaddeus  perceived  the  necessity  of  compliance,  and  did 
so  without  further  hesitation. 

“The  calamities,  sir,  which  have  occasioned  the  disorder  of 
my  friend  need  not  be  a secret  : too  many  have  shared  them 
with  him;  his  sorrows  have  been  public  ones.  You  must  have 
learnt  by  his  language.  Dr.  Cavendish,  that  he  is  a foreigner 
and  a soldier.  He  held  the  rank  of  general  in  the  King  of 
Poland’s  service.  Since  the  period  in  which  his  country  fell, 
'his  wandering  senses  have  approximated  to  what  you  see.” 

Dr,  Cavendish  paused  for  a moment  before  he  answered  the 
count ; then  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  veteran,  who  was  sitting  at 
the  other  end  of  the  room,  constructing  the  model  of  a fortified 
town,  he  said — 

“ All  that  we  can  do  at  present,  sir,  is  to  permit  him  to 
follow  liis  schemes  without  contradiction,  meanwhile  strength- 
gening  his  system  with  proper  medicines,  and  lulling  its  irrita- 
tion by  gentle  opiates.  We  must  proceed  cautiously,  and  I 
Irust  in  Heaven  that  success  will  crown  us  at  last.  I will  order 
something  to  be  taken  every  night.” 

^ When  the  doctor  had  written  his  prescription,  and  was  pre- 
paring to  go,  Thaddeus  offered  him  his  fee ; but  the  good 
fCavendish,  taking  the  hand  that  presented  it,  and  closing  it  on 


i88 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


the  guinea,  ‘‘  No,  my  dear  sir,”  said  he  ; real  patriotism  is 
too  much  the  idol  of  my  heart  to  allow  me  to  receive  payment 
when  I behold  her  face.  Suffer  me,  Mr.  Constantine,  to  visit 
you  and  your  brave  companion  as  a friend,  or  I never  come 
again.” 

“ Sir,  this  generous  conduct  to  strangers — ” 

“Generous  to  myself,  Mr.  Constantine,  and  not  to  stran- 
gers ; I cannot  consider  you  as  such,  for  men  who  devote 
themselves  to  their  country  must  find  a brother  in  every  honest 
breast.  I will  not  hear  of  our  meeting  on  any  other  terms.”  * 

Thaddeus  Qould  not  immediately  form  a reply  adequate  to 
the  sentiment  which  the  generous  philanthropy  of  the  doctor 
awakened.  Whilst  he  stood  incapable  of  speaking,  Cavendish, 
with  one  glance  of  his  penetrating  eye,  deciphered  his  counten- 
ance, and  giving  him  a friendly  shake  by  the  hand,  disappeared. 

The  count  took  up  his  hat ; and  musing  all  the  way  he  went 
on  the  unexpected  scenes  we  meet  in  life, — disappointment 
where  we  expected  kindness,  and  friendship  where  no  hope 
could  arise, — he  arrived  at  the  door  of  Lady  Dundas,  in  Har- 
ley Street. 

He  was  instantly  let  in,  and  with  much  ceremony  ushered 
into  a splendid  library,  where  he  was  told  the  ladies  would 
attend  him.  Before  they  entered,  they  allowed  him  time  to 
examine  its  costly  furniture,  its  glittering  book-cases,  bird-cages, 
globes,  and  reading-stands,  all  shining  with  burnished  gilding ; 
its  polished  plaster  casts  of  the  nine  muses,  which  stood  in 
nine  recesses  about  the  room,  draperied  with  blue  net,  looped 
up  with  artificial  roses  ; and  its  fine  cut-steel  Grecian  stove,  on 
each  side  of  which  was  placed,  on  sandal-wood  pedestals,  two 
five-feet  statues  of  Apollo  and  Minerva. 

Thaddeus  had  twice  walked  round  these  fopperies  of  learn- 
ing, when  the  door  opened,  and  Lady  Dundas,  dressed  in  a 
morning  wrapper  of  Indian  shawls,  waddled  into  the  apartment. 
She  neither  bowed  nor  curtseyed  to  the  count,  who  was  stand- 
ing when  she  entered,  but  looking  at  him  from  head  to  foot, 
said  as  she  passed,  “ So  you  are  come  ; ” and  ringing  the  bell, 
called  to  the  servant  in  no  very  soft  tones,  “ Tell  Miss  Dundas 
the  person  Lady  Tinemouth  spoke  of  is  here.”  Her  ladyship 
then  sat  down  in  one  of  the  little  gilded  chairs,  leaving  Thad- 
deus still  standing  on  the  spot  where  he  had  bowed  to  her 
entrance. 

* This  generous  man  is  no  fictitious  character,  the  original  being  Dr.  Blackburne,  late 
of  Cavendish  Square  ; but  who,  since  the  above  was  written,  has  long  retired  froin  his  pro- 
fession, passing  a revered  old  age  in  the  beautiful  neighborhood  of  our  old  British  classic 
scenes,  the  Abbey  of  Glastonbury. 


THADDEUS  OF  WAESAIV,  . 189 

You  may  sit  down/’  cried  she,  stirring  the  fire,  and  not 
ieigning  to  look  at  him ; “ for  my  daughter  may  not  choose  to 
:ome  this  half-hour.” 

“ I prefer  standing,”  replied  the  count,  who  could  have 
aughed  at  the  accuracy  of  Miss  Egerton’s  picture,  had  he  not 
prognosticated  more  disagreeableness  to  himself  from  the  ill 
nanners  of  which  this  was  a specimen. 

Lady  Dundas  took  no  further  notice  of  him.  Turning  from 
ler  bloated  countenance,  (which  pride  as  well  as  high  living 
lad  swollen  from  prettiness  to  deformity,)  he  walked  to  a win- 
low  and  stationed  himself  there,  looking  into  the  street,  until 
he  door  was  again  opened,  and  two  ladies  made  their  appear- 
ince. 

‘‘  Miss*  Dundas,”  cried  her  ladyship,  here  is  the  young 
nan  that  is  to  teach  you  German.” 

Thaddeus  bowed  ; the  younger  of  the  ladies  curtseyed ; 
ind  so  did  the  other,  not  forgetting  to  accompany  such  conde- 
cension  with  a toss  of  the  head,  that  the  effect  of  undue  hu- 
nility  might  be  done  away. 

Whilst  a servant  was  setting  chairs  round  a table,  on  which 
vas  painted  the  Judgment  of  Hercules,  Lady  Dundas  again 
)pened  her  lips. 

Pray,  Mr.  Thingumbob,  have  you  brought  any  grammars, 
ind  primers,  and  dictionaries,  and  syntaxes  with  you  ? ” 

“ Before  he  had  time  to  reply  in  the  negative,  Miss  Dundas 
nterrupted  her  mother. 

‘H  wish,  madam,  you  would  leave  the  arrangement  of  my 
^tudies  to  myself.  Does  your  ladyship  think  we  would  learn 
»ut  of  any  book  which  had  been  touched  by  other  people 
Thomas,”  cried  she  to  a servant,  send  Stephens  hither.” 

Thaddeus  silently  contemplated  this  strange  mother  and 
laughter,  whilst  the  pretty  Euphemia  paid  the  same  compli- 
aent  to  him.  During  his  stay,  he  ventured  to  look  once  only 
-t  her  sylph-like  figure.  There  was  an  unreceding  something 
n her  liquid  blue  eyes,  when  he  chanced  to  meet  them,  which 
lispleased  him  ; and  he  could  not  help  seeing  that  from  the  in- 
tant  she  entered  the  room  she  had  seldom  ceased  staring  in 
ds  face. 

He  was  a little  relieved  by  the  maid  putting  the  books  on 
he  table.  Miss  Dundas,  taking  her  seat,  desired  him  to  sit 
lown  by  her  and  arrange  the  lessons.  Lady  Dundas  was  draw- 
ing to  the  other  side  of  Thaddeus,  when  Euphemia,  suddenly 
/hisking  round,  pushed  before  her  mother,  and  exclaimed — 

‘‘  Dear  mamma  ! you  don’t  want  to  learn ! ” and  squeezed 


igo 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


herself  upon  the  edge  of  her  mother’s  chair,  who,  very  angrily 
getting  up,  declared  that  rudeness  to  a parent  was  intolerable 
from  such  well-bred  young  women,  and  left  the  room. 

Euphemia  blushed  at  the  reproof  more  than  at  her  conduct  : 
and  Miss  Dundas  added  to  her  confusion  by  giving  her  a second 
reprimand.  Thaddeus  pitied  the  evident  embarrassment  of 
the  little  beauty,  and  to  relieve  her,  presented  the  page  in  the 
German  grammar  with  which  they  were  to  begin.  This  had 
the  desired  effect ; and  for  an  hour  and  a half  they  prosecuted 
their  studies  with  close  attention. 

Whilst  the  count  continued  his  directions  to  her  sister,  and 
then  turned  his  address  to  herself.  Miss  Euphemia,  wholly  ui> 
seen  by  him,  with  a bent  head  was  affecting  to  hear  him,  though 
at  the  same  time  she  looked  obliquely  through  her  thick  flaxen 
ringlets,  and  gazing  with  wonder  and  admiration  on  his  face  as 
it  inclined  towards  her,  said  to  herself,  ‘‘If  this  man  were  a 
gentleman,  I should  think  him  the  most  charming  creature  in 
the  world.” 

“ Will  your  task  be  too  long,  madam  ? ” inquired  Thaddeus  ; 

“ will  it  give  you  any  inconvenience  to  remember  ? ” 

“ To  remember  what  ? ” asked  she,  for  in  truth  she  had 
neither  seen  what  he  had  been  pointing  at  nor  heard  what  he 
had  been  saying, 

“ The  lesson  madam,  I have  just  been  proposing.” 

“ Show  it  to  me  again,  and  then  I shall  be  a better  judge.” 

He  did  as  he  was  desired,  and  was  taking  his  leave,  when 
she  called  after  him  : 

“ Pray,  Mr.  Constantine,  come  to-morrow  at  two.  I want 
you  particularly.” 

The  count  bowed  and  withdrew. 

“ And  what  do  you  want  with  him  to-morrow,  child  ? ” asked  ! 
Miss  Dundas  ; “you  are  not  accustomed  to  be  so  fond  of  im- 
provement.” 

Euphemia  knew  very  well  what  she  was  accustomed  to  be 
fond  of  ; but  not  choosing  to  let  her  austere  sister  into  herpre-  ' 
dilection  for  the  contemplation  of  superior  beauty,  she  merely 
answered,  “ You  know,  Diana,  you  often  reproach  me  for  my 
absurd  devotion  to  novel-reading,  and  my  repugnance  to  graver 
books  ; now  I want  at  once  to  be  like  you,  a woman  of  great 
erudition  : and  for  that  purpose  I will  study  day  and  night  at 
the  German,  till  I can  read  all  the  philosophers,  and  be  a fit 
companion  for  my  sister.” 

This  speech  from  Euphemia  (who  had  always  been  so  de- 
clared an  enemy  to  pedantry  as  to  affirm  that  she  learnt  German 


THADDEVS  OF  tVAESAW. 


19 1 

nerely  because  it  was  the  fashion)  would  have  awakened  Miss 
Dundas  to  some  suspicion  of  a covert  design,  had  she  not  been 
n the  habit  of  taking  down  such  large  draughts  of  adulation, 
hat  whenever  herself  was  the  subject,  she  gave  it  full  confi- 
lence.  Euphemia  seldom  administered  thevse  doses  but  to 
jerve  particular  views  ; and  seeing  in  the  present  case  that  a 
ittle  flattery  was  necessary,  she  felt  no  compunction  in  sacrifi- 
ing  sincerity  to  the  gratification  of  caprice.  Weak  in  under- 
tanding,  she  had  fed  on  works  of  imagination,  until  her  mind 
oathed  all  kinds  of  food.  Not  content  with  devouring  the  ele- 
;ant  pages  of  Mackenzie,  Radcliffe,  and  Lee,  she  flew  with  1/ 
Gracious  appetite  to  sate  herself  on  the  garbage  of  any  circula- 
ing  library  that  fell  in  her  way. 

The  effects  of  such  a teste  were  exhibited  in  her  manners, 
ieing  very  pretty,  she  became  very  sentimental.  She  dressed 
ke  a wood  nymph,  and  talked  as  if  her  soul  were  made  of  love 
nd  sorrow.  ^ Neither  of  these  emotions  had  she  ever  really 
elt ; but  in  idea  she  was  always  the  victim  of  some  ill-fated 
assion,  fancying  herself  at  different  periods  in  love  with  one 
r other  of  the  finest  young  men  in  her  circle. 

By  this  management  she  kept  faithful  to  her  favorite  princi- 
le  that  “ love  was  a want  of  her  soul  ! As  it  was  the  rule  of 
er  life,  it  ever  trembled  on  her  tongue,  ever  introduced  the 
onfession  of  any  new  attachment,  which  usually  happened  • 
iree  times  a-year,  to  her  dear  friend  Miss  Arabella  Rothes, 
brtunately  for  the  longevity  of  their  mutual  friendship,  this 
oung  lady  lived  in’ an  ancient  house,  forty  miles  to  the  north  of 
-ondon.  Ihis  latter  circumstance  proved  a pretty  distress 
)r  their  pens  to  descant  on ; and  Arabella  remained  a most 
larming  sentimental  writing-stock,  to  receive  the  catalogue  of 
Iiss  Euphemia's  lovers  ; indeed,  that  gentle  creature  might 
ave  matched  every  lady  in  Cowley’s  calendar  with  a gentle- 
an.  But  every  throb  of  her  heart  must  have  acknowledged  a 
luerent  master.  First,  the  fashionable  sloven,  Augustus 
Dmers,  lounged  and  sauntered  himself  into  her  good  graces  ; 

Jt  his  dishevelled  hair,  and  otherwise  neglected  toilette,  not 
,^actly  meeting  her  ideas  of  an  elegant  lover,  she  gave  him  up 
, the  end  of  three  weeks.  The  next  object  her  eyes  fell  upon, 
most  opposite  to  her  former  fancy,  was  the  charming  Mar- 
us  of  Inverary.  But  here  all  her  arrows  failed,  for  she  never 
mid  extract  from  him  more  than  a ‘‘  how  d’ye  do  ? ” through 
e long  lapse  of  four  months,  luring  which  time  she  con- 
Jiued  as  constant  to  his  fine  figure,  and  her  own  folly,  as 
^'^uld  have  fallen  to  the  lot  of  any  poor  despairing  damseL 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


192 

However,  my  lord  was  so  cruel,  so  perfidious,  as  to  allow 
several  opportunities  to  pass  in  which  he  might  have  declared 
his  passion  ; and  she  told  Arabella,  in  a letter  of  six  sheets, 
that  she  would  bear  it  no  longer. 

She  put  this  wise  resolution  in  practice,  and  had  already 
played  the  same  game  with  half  a score,  (the  last  of  whom  was 
a young  gfuardsman,  who  had  just  ridden  into  her  heart  by 
managingliis  steed  with  the  air  of  a ‘'feathered  Mercury,’’ 
one  day  in  Hyde  Park,)  when  Thaddeus  made  his  appearance 
before  her. 

The  moment  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  him,  her  inflammable 
imagination  was  set  in  a blaze.  She  forgot  his  apparent  subor- 
dinate quality  in  the  nobleness  of  his  figure;  and  one  or  twice 
that  evening,'  while  she  was  flitting  about,  the  sparkling  cyno- 
sure of  the  Duchess  of  Orkney’s  masquerade,  her  thoughts 
hovered  over  the  handsome  foreigner. 

She  viewed  the  subject  first  one  way  and  then  another,  and, 
in  her  ever  varying  mind,  “ he  was  everything  by  turns,  and 
nothing  long ; ” but  at  length  she  argued  herself  into  a belief 
that  he  must  be  a man  of  rank  from  some  of  the  German  courts, 
who  having  seen  her  somewhere  unknown  to  herself,  had  fallen 
in  love  with  her,  and  so  had  persuaded  Lady  Tinemouth  to  in- 
troduce him  as  a master  of  languages  to  her  family  that  he 
might  the  better  appreciate  the  disinterestedness  of  her  dis- 
position. 

This  wild  notion  having  once  got  into  her  head,  received 
instant  credence.  She  resolved,  without  seeming  to  suspect  it. 
to  treat  him  as  his  quality  deserved,  and  to  deliver  sentiments 
in  his  hearing  which  should  charm  him  with  their  delicacy  and 
generosity. 

With  these  chimeras  floating  in  her  brain,  she  returned  home, 
went  to  bed,  and  dreamed  that  Mr.  Constantine  had  turned 
out  to  be  the  Due  D Enghien^  had  offered  her  his  hand,  and  that' 
she  was  conducted  to  the  altar  by  a train  of  princes  and  prin- 
cesses, his  brothers  and  sisters. 

She  woke  the  next  morning  from  these  deliriums  in  an  ec- 
stasy, deeming  them  prophetic  ; and,  taking  up  her  book,  began 
with  a fluttering  attention  to  scan  the  lesson  which  Thaddeus 
had  desired  her  to  learn. 


THADDEUS  OF  IVAFSA  IV. 


m 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 


! - 

^ I'  “ What  are  these  words  ? These  seeming  flowers  ? Maids  to  call  them,  ‘ Love 

in  idleness.’  ” 

ji 

The  following  day  at  noon,  as  the  Count  Sobieski  was  cross- 
ing Cavendish  Square  to  keep  his  appointment  in  Harley  Street, 
he  was  met  by  Lady  Sara  Ross.  She  had  spoken  with  the 
"^Misses  Dundas  the  night  before,  at  the  masquerade,  where 
discovering  the  pretty  Euphemia  through  the  dress  of  Eloisa, 
her  jealous  and  incensed  heart  could  not  withstand  the  tempta- 
tion of  hinting  at  the  captivating  Abelard  she  had  selected  to 
direct  her  studies.  Her  ladyship  soon  penetrated  into  the  situa- 
tion of  Euphemia’s  heated  fancy,  and  drew  from  her,  without 
betraying  herself,  that  she  expected  to  see  her  master  the  follow- 
ing day.  Stung  to  the  soul.  Lady  Sara  quitted  the  rooms,  and 
in  a paroxysm  of  disappointment,  determined  to  throw  herself 
iJin  his  way  as  he  went  to  her  rival’s  house. 

With  this  hope,  she  had  already  been  traversing  the  square 
upwards  of  half  an  hour,  attended  by  her  maid,  when  her  anx- 
>:ious  eye  at  last  caught  a view  of  his  figure  proceeding  along 
,0 Margaret  Street.  Hardly  able  to  support  her  tottering  frame, 
shaken  as  it  was  with  contending  emotions,  she  accosted  him 
) first  for  he  was  passing  straight  onward,  without  looking  to 
the  right  or  the  left.  On  seeing  her  ladyship,  he  stopped,  and 
^expressed  his  pleasure  at  the  meeting. 

‘‘  If  you  really  are  pleased  to  meet  me,”  said  she,  forcing  a 
smile,  “ take  a walk  with  me  round  the  square.  I want  to 
speak  with  you.” 

Thad'deus  bowed,  and  she  put  her  arm  through  his,  but  re- 
mained silent  fora  few  minutes,  in  evident  confusion.  The 
pcount  recollected  it  must  now  be  quite  two.  He  knew  the  awk- 
! wardness  of  making  the  Misses  Dundas  wait ; and  notwithstand- 
ing his  reluctance  to  appear  impatient  with  Lady  Sara,  he  found 
f‘himself  obliged  to  say — 

I am  sorry  I must  urge  your  ladyship  to  honor  me  with 
; y’our  commands,  for  it  is  already  past  the  time  when  I ought  to 
( have  been  with  the  Misses  Dundas.” 

‘‘Yes,”  cried  Lady  Sara,  angrily,  “ Miss  Euphemia  told  me 
as  much  ; but,  Mr.  Constantine,  as  a friend,  I must  warn  you 
against  her  acts,  as  well  as  against  those  of  another  lady,  who 
would  do  well  to  correct  the  boldness  of  her  manner.” 


194 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


‘‘  Whom  do  you  mean,  madam  ? interrogated  Thaddeus, 
surprised  at  her  warmth,  and  totally  at  a loss  to  conjecture  to 
whom  she  alluded. 

“ A little  reflection  would  answer  you,”  returned  she,  wish- 
ing to  retreat  from  an  explanation,  yet  stimulated  by  her  double 
jealousy  to  proceed:  “she  maybe  a good  girl,  Mr.  Constan- 
tine, and  I dare  say  she  is  ; but  a woman  who  has  promised  her 
hand  to  another  ought  not  to  flirt  with  you.  What  business 
had  Miss  Egerton  to  command  you  to  wear  an  English  dress  ? 
But  she  must  now  see  the  danger  of  her  conduct,  by  your  having 
presumed  to  obey  her.” 

“ Lady  Sara ! ” exclaimed  the  count,  much  hurt  at  this 
speech,  “ I hardly  understand  you  ; yet  I believe  I may  venture 
to  affirm  that  in  all  which  you  have  just  now  said,  you  are  mis- 
taken. Who  can  witness  the  general  frankness  of  Miss  Eger- 
ton, or  listen  to  the  candid  manner  with  which  she  avows  her 
attachment  to  Mr.  Montresor,  and  conceive  that  she  possesses 
any  thoughts  which  would  not  do  her  honor  to  reveal  ? And 
for  myself,”  added  he,  lowering  the  tone  of  his  voice,  “ I trust 
the  least  of  my  faults  is  presumption.  It  never  was  my  character 
to  presume  on  any  lady^s  condescension  ; and  if  dressing  as  she 
approved  be  deemed  an  instance  of  that  kind,  I can  declare, 
upon  my  word,  had  I not  found  other  motives  besides  her  rail- 
lery, my  appearance  should  not  have  suffered  a change.” 

“ Are  you  sincere,  Mr.  Constantine  ” cried  Lady  Sara,  now 
smiling  with  pleasure. 

“ Indeed  I am,  and  happy  if  my  explanation  have  met  with 
your  ladyship^s  approbation.” 

“ Mr.  Constantine,”  resumed  she,  “ I have  no  motive  but 
one  in  my  discourse  with  you, — friendship.”  And  casting  her 
eyes  down,  she  sighed  profoundly.  , 

“Your  ladyship  does  me  honor.” 

“ I would  have  you  to  regard  me  with  the  same  confidence 
that  you  do  Lady  Tinemouth.  My  father  possesses  the  first 
patronage  in  this  country,  I therefore  have  it  a thousand  times 
more  in  my  power  than  she  has  to  render  you  a service.” 

Here  her  ladyship  overshot  herself  ; she  had  not  calculated 
well  on  the  nature  of  the  mind  she  wished  to  ensnare. 

“ I am  grateful  to  your  generosity,”  replied  Thaddeus  \ 
“ but  on  this  head  I must  decline  your  kind  offices.  Whilst  I 
consider  myself  the  subject  of  one  king,  though  he  be  in  a prison, 
I cannot  accept  of  any  employment  under  another  who  is  in 
alliance  with  his  enemies.” 

Lady  Sara  discovered  her  error  the  moment  he  had  made 


THADBEUS  OF  fVAESAJV, 

his  answer;  and,  in  a disappointed  tone,  exclaimed,  “Then  you 
despise  my  friendship  I”  ^ 

“ No,  Lady  Sara  ; it  is  an  honor  far  beyond  mv  merits  • and 
Tinemouth  must  be  doubled  when  I rec* 
^ J possess  such  honor  through  her  means.” 

f>vr,pr>(-  ^ ladyship,  “have  that  as  you  will ; but  I 

ex;^ct,  as  as^cinien  of  your  confidence  in  me,  you  will  be  wary 
Euphemia  Dundas.  I know  she  is  artful  and  vain  ; she  finds 
amusement  in  attracting  the  affections  of  men  ; and  Ihen  not 

Tect  friaugliten’^  sensibility,  she  turns  them  into  a sub- 

ladyship,”  replied  the  count ; “ but  in  this 
espert  I think  I am  safe,  both  from  the  lady  and  myself.” 

heart?” 

" » lir  paused  and  looked  down.  ^ 

h (■  1 ” replied  he,  sighing  as  deeply  as  herself- 

course  I have  no  place  in  my  heart  to  give  to  love.  Besides 
the  quality  in  which  I appear  at  Lady  Dundas’s  would  preclude 

kdv'^there  from  supposing  that  such  notice  f?om  any 

lady  there  to  him  could  be  possible.  Therefore,  I am  safe 
though  I acknowledge  my  obligation  to  your  ladyship’s  caution  ’’’ 
Lady  Sara  was  satisfied  with  the  first  part  of  this  answer. 

rpryM  unoccupied  ; and,  as  he  had  ac- 

cepted her  proffered  friendship,  she  doubted  not,  when  assisted 
by  more  frequent  displays  of  her  fascinations,  she  could  destroy 

kr  fire  rthT'if’  “P  a simb 

lar  nre  to  that  which  consumed  her  own. 

The  unconscious  object  of  all  these  devices  began  internally 
ito  accuse  his  vanity  of  having  been  too  fanciful  in  tlie  formation 
ot  suspicions  which  on  a former  occasion  he  had  believed  him- 

a quickness  of  perception  his 
" f H now  denominated  folly,  he  found  himself  at  the  bot- 
/tom  of  Harley  Street. 

called  her  servant  to  walk  nearer  to  her;  and 
_elhng  Thaddeus  she  should  expect  him  the  next  evening  at 
.Lady  Tinemouth  s,  wished  him  good-morning. 

He  was  certain  that  he  must  have  stayed  at  least  half  an 

fhe  sisters, 
perhaps  a reprimand,  he 
imocked  at  the  door,  and  was  again  shown  into  the  library, 
vliss  Euphemia  was  alone.  ^ 

.. . indistinct  e.xcuse  for  Iiaving  made  her  wait : 

»)ut  Euphemia,  with  good-humored  alacrity,  interrupted  him. 


196 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 

“ O pray,  don’t  mind  ; you  have  made  nobody  wait  but  me, 
and  I can  easily  forgive  it ; for  mamma  and  my  sister  chose  to 
to  go  out  at  one,  it  being  May-day,  to  seethe  chimney-sweepers 
dine  at  Mrs.  Montague’s.*  They  did  as  they  liked,  and  I pre- 
ferred staying  at  home  to  repeat  my  lesson.” 

Thaddeus,  thanking  her  for  her  indulgence,  sat  down,  and 
taking  the  book,  began  to  question  her.  Not  one  word  could 

she  recollect.  She  smiled.  , . r v • 

“ I am  afraid,  madam,  you  have  never  thought  of  it  since 

yesterday  morning.”  ..  r ■ „ 

“ Indeed  I have  thought  of  nothing  else  ; you  must  forgive 
me  1 am  very  stupid,  Mr.  Constantine,  at  learning  languages  ; 
and  German  is  .so  harsh— at  least  to  my  ears ! Cannot  you 
teach  me  any  other  thing  ? I should  like  to  learn  of  you  of  all 
things,  but  do  think  of  something  else  besides  this  odious  jar- 
gon ! Cannot  you  teach  me  to  read  poetry  elegantly  ?— Shak- 
speare,  for  instance  ; I doat  upon  Shakspeare  ! _ 

“ That  would  be  strange  presumption  in  a foreigner  !■ 

“ No  presumption  in  the  least,”  cried  she  ; “ if  you  can  do 
it  pray  begin  ! There  is  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

Thaddeus  pushed  away  the  book  with  a smile.  ^ 

‘‘  I cannot  obey.  I understand  Shakspeare  with  as  much 
ease  as  you,  madam,  will  soon  do  Schiller,  if  you  apply ; but  1 
cannot  pretend  to  read  the  play  aloud.  ^ 

Dear  me,  how  vexatious  ! — but  I must  hear  you  read 
something.  Do,  take  up  that  Werter.  My  sister  got  it  from 
the  Prussian  ambassador,  and  he  tells  me  it  is  sweetest  in  1 s 
own  language.” 

The  count  opened  the  book.  . • 

‘‘  But  you  will  not  understand  a word  of  it.^  , 

I do^t  care  for  that ; I have  it  by  heart  in  English  ; and 
if  you  will  only  read  his  lasMetter  to  Charlotte,  I know  I can 

follow  you  in  my  own  mind.”  , , 1 , 

To  please  this  whimsical  little  creature,  Thaddeus  turned  to 
the  letter,  and  read  it  forward  with  a pathos  natural  to  his 

voice  and  character.  When  he  came  to  an  end  and  closed  tl  e 

volume,  the  cadence  of  his  tones,  and  the  lady  s memorj,  c 
ample  justice  to  her  sensibility.  She  looked  up,  and  smiling 
thrSugh  her  watery  eyes,  which  glittered  like  violets  wet  with 

. This  was  a gay  spectacle,  and  a most  kind  Se™n-“yard  S 

StTh'Sr  h^rss  ‘a'^d  h™ts::td  each 

th«  death  of  Mrs.  Montague,  this  humane  and  pleasurable  spectacle 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


197 


dew,  drew  out  her  perfumed  handkerchief,  and  wiping  them, 
said — 

thank  you,  Mr.  Constantine.  You  see  by  this  irrepressi- 
ble emotion  that  I feel  Goethe,  and  did  not  ask  you  a vain  favor. 

Thaddeus  bowed,  for  he  was  at  a loss  to  guess  what  kind  of 
a reply  could  be  expected  by  so  strange  a creature. 

She  continued — 

‘‘You  are  a German,  Mr.  Constantine.  Did  you  ever  see 
Charlotte  ? ” 

“ Never,  madam.” 

“ I am  sorry  for  that ; I should  have  liked  to  have  heard 
what  sort  of  a beauty  she  was.  But  don’t  you  think  she  behaved 
cruelly  to  Werter  ? Perhaps  you  knew  him  ? ” 

“ No,  madam  ; this  lamentable  story  happened  before  I was 
born.” 

“ How  unhappy  for  him  ! I am  sure  you  would  have  made 
the  most  charming  friends  in  the  world  ! Have  you  a friend, 
Mr.  Constantine.” 

The  count  looked  at  her  with  surprise.  She  laughed  at  the 
expression  of  his  countenance. 

“ I don’t  mean  such  friends  as  one’s  father,  mother,  sisters 
and  relations  : most  people  have  enough  of  them.  I mean 
a tender,  confiding  friend,  to  whom  you  unbosom  all  your 
secrets : who  is  your  other  self — a second  soul  ! In  short,  a 
creature  in  whose  existence  you  forget  your  own  ! ” 

Thaddeus  followed  with  his  eyes  the  heightened  color  of  the 
fair  enthusiast,  who,  accompanying  her  rhapsody  with  action 
expressive  as  her  words,  had  to  repeat  her  question,  “ Have  you 
such  a friend  } ” before  he  found  recollection  to  answer  her  in 
the  negative. 

The  count,  who  had  never  been  used  to  such  extravagant 
behavior  in  a woman,  would  have  regarded  Miss  Euphemia 
Dundas  as  little  better  than  insane  had  he  not  been  prepared 
by  Miss  Egerton’s  description  ; and  he  now  acquiesced  in  the 
young  lady’s  desire  to  detain  him  another  hour,  half  amused 
and  half  wearied  with  her  aimless  and  wild  fancies.  But  here 
he  was  mistaken.  Her  fancies  were  not  aimless  ; his  heart  was 
the  game  she  had  in  view,  and  she  determined  a desperate 
attack  should  make  it  her  own,  in  return  for  the  deep  wounds 
she  had  received  from  every  tone  of  his  voice,  whilst  reading 
the  Sorrows  of  Werter. 


198 


THADBEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

LADY  TINEMOUTH’s  BOUDOIR. 

Thaddeus  spent  nearly  a fortnight  in  the  constant  exercise 
of  his  occupations.  In  the  forepart  of  each  day,  until  two,  he 
prepared  those  drawings  by  the  sale  of  which  he  was  empowered 
every  week  to  pay  the  good  Mrs.  Robson  for  her  care  of  his 
friend.  And  he  hoped,  when  the  ladies  in  Harley  Street  should 
think  it  time  to  defray  any  part  of  their  now  large  debt  to  him, 
he  might  be  enabled  to  liquidate  the  very  long  bill  of  his  friend’s 
apothecary.  But  the  Misses  Dundas  possessed  too  much 
money  to  think  of  its  utility  ; they  used  it  as  counters  ; for  they 
had  no  conception  that  to  other  people  it  might  be  the  pur- 
chaser of  almost  every  comfort.  Their  comforts  came  so  cer- 
tainly, they  supposed  they  grew  of  necessity  out  of  their  situa- 
tion, and  their  great  wealth  owned  no  other  commission  than  to 
give  splendid  parties  and  buy  fine  things.  Their  golden  shower 
being  exhaled  by  the  same  vanity  by  which  it  had  been  shed, 
they  as  little  regarded  its  dispersion  as  they  had  marked  its 
descent. 

Hence,  these  amiable  ladies  never  once  recollected  that 
their  master  ought  to  receive  some  weightier  remuneration  for 
his  visits  than  the  honor  of  paying  them  ; and  as  poets  say  the 
highest  honors  are  achieved  by  suffering,  so  these  two  sisters, 
though  in  different  ways,  seemed  resolved  that  Thaddeus  should 
purchase  his  distinction  with  adequate  pains. 

Notwithstanding  that  Miss  Dundas  continued  very  remiss  in 
her  lessons,  she  unrelehtingly  required  the  count’s  attendance, 
and  sometimes,  not  in  the  most  gentle  language,  reproached 
him  for  a backwardness  in  learning  she  owed  entirely  to  her 
own  inattention  and  stupidity.  The  fair  Diana  would  have 
been  the  most  erudite  woman  in  the  world  could  she  have 
found  any  fine-lady  path  to  the  temple  of  science  ; but  the 
goddess  who  presides  there  being  only  to  be  won  by  arduous 
climbing,  poor  Miss  Dundas,  like  the  indolent  monarch  who 
made  the  same  demand  of  the  philosophers,  was  obliged  to  lay 
the  fault  of  her  own  slippery  feet  on  the  weakness  of  her  con- 
ductors. 

As  Thaddeus  despised  her  most  heartily,  he  bore  ill-humor 
from  that  quarter  with  unshaken  equanimity.  But  the  pretty 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


199 


Euphemia  was  not  so  easily  managed.  She  had  now  com* 
pletely  given  up  her  fanciful  soul  to  this  prince  in  disguise,  and 
already  began  to  act  a thousand  extravagances.  Without  sus- 
pecting the  object,  Diana  soon  discovered  that  her  sister  was  in 
one  of  her  love  fits.  Indeed  she  cared  nothing  about  it ; and 
leaving  her  to  pursue  the  passion  as  she  liked,  poor  Euphemia, 
according  to  her  custom  when  laboring  under  this  whimsical 
malady,  addicted  herself  to  solitude.  This  romantic  taste  she 
generally  indulged  by  taking  her  footman  to  the  gate  of  the 
green  in  Cavendish  Square,  where  he  stood  until  she  had  per- 
formed a pensive  saunter  up  and  down  the  walk.  After  this 
she  returned  home,  adjusted  her  hair  in  the  Madonna  fashion, 
(because  Thaddeus  had  one  day  admired  the  female  head  in  a 
Holy  Family,  by  Guido,  over  the  chimney-piece,)  and  then  seat- 
ing herself  in  some  becoming  attitude,  usually  vvaited,  with  her 
eyes  constantly  turning  to  the  door,  until  the  object  of  these 
devices  presented  himself.  She  impatiently  watched  all  his 
motions  and  looks  whilst  he  attended  to  her  sister;  and  the 
moment  that  was  done,  she  ran  over  her  own  lessons  with  great 
volubility,  but  little  attention.  Her  task  finished,  she  shut  the 
books,  and  employed  the  remainder  of  the  time  in  translating  a 
number  of  little  mottoes  into  German,  which  she  had  composed 
for  boxes,  baskets,  and  other  frippery. 

One  day,  when  her  young  teacher  was,  as  usual,  tired  almost 
beyond  endurance  with  making  common  sense  out  of  so  much 
nonsense,  Euphemia  observed  that  Diana  had  removed  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room  with  the  Honorable  Mr.  Lascelles.  To^ 
give  an  edat  to  her  new  studies.  Miss  Dundas  had  lately  opened 
her  library  door  to  morning  visitors  ; and  seeing  her  sister  thus 
engaged,  Euphemia  thought  she  might  do  what  she  wished  with- 
out detection.  Hastily  drawing  a folded  paper  from  her 
pocket,  she  desired  Thaddeus  to  take  it  home,  and  translate  it 
into  the  language  he  liked  best. 

Surprised  at  her  manner,  he  held  it  in  his  hand. 

‘‘  Put  it  in  your  pocket,”  added  she,  in  a hurrying  voice, 
‘‘  else  my  sister  may  see  it,  and  ask  what  it  is  ! ” 

Full  of  wonder,  he  obeyed  her ; and  the  little  beauty,  having 
executed  her  scheme,  seemed  quite  intoxicated  with  delight. 
When  he  was  preparing  to  withdraw,  she  called  to  him,  and 
asked  when  he  should  visit  Lady  Tinemouth. 

‘‘  This  evening,  madam.” 

“ Then,”  returned  she,  tell  her  ladyship  I shall  come  and 
sit  half-an-hour  with  her  to-night ; and  here,”  added  she,  run- 
ning up  to  him,  present  her  that  rose,  with  my  love.”  Whilst 


200 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


she  put  it  into  his  hand,  she  whispered  in  a low  voice,  and 
you  will  tell  me  what  you  think  of  the  verses  I have  given  you.” 

Thaddeus  colored  and  bowed.  He  hurried  out  of  the  house 
into  the  street,  as  if  by  that  haste  he  could  have  gotten  out  of 
a dilemma  to  which  he  feared  all  this  foolish  mystery  might  be 
only  the  introduction. 

Though  of  all  men  in  the  world  he  was  perhaps  the  least 
inclined  to  vanity,  yet  be  must  have  been  one  of  the  most  stupid 
had  he  not  been  convinced  by  this  time  of  the  dangerous  at- 
tachment of  Lady  Sara.  Added  to  that  painful  certainty  he 
now  more  than  dreaded  a similar  though  a slighter  folly  in  Miss 
Euphemia. 

Can  a man  see  himself  the  daily  object  of  a pair  of  melting 
eyes,  hear  everlasting  sighs  at  his  entrance  and  departure,  day 
after  day  receive  tender  though  covert  addresses  about  disin- 
terested love,  can  he  witness  all  this,  and  be  sincere  when  he 
affirms  it  is  the  language  of  indifference  ? If  that  be  possible, 
the  Count  Sobieski  has  no  pretensions  of  modesty.  He  com- 
prehended the  ‘‘  discoursing  ” of  Miss  Euphemia’s  “ eye  ; ” 
also  the  tendency  of  the  love-sick  mottoes  which,  under  vari- 
ous excuses,  she  put  into  his  hand  \ and  with  many  a pitying 
smile  of  contempt  he  contemplated  her  childish  absurdity. 

A few  days  prior  to  that  in  which  she  made  this  appointment 
with  Thaddeus,  she  had  presented  to  him  another  of  her  posies, 
which  ran  thus : “ Frighted  love,  like  a wild  beast,  shakes  the 
wood  in  which  it  hides.” 

Thaddeus  almost  laughed  at  the  oddity  of  the  conceit. 

Do,  dear  Mr.  Constantine,”  cried  she,  translate  it  into 
the  sweetest  French  you  can  ; for  I mean  to  have  it  put  into  a 
medallion,  and  to  give  it  to  the  person  whom  I most  value  on 
earth ! ” 

There  was  something  so  truly  ridiculous  in  the  sentence, 
that,  reluctant  to  allow  even  Miss  Euphemia  to  expose  herself 
so  far,  he  considered  a moment  how  he  should  make  anything 
so  bad  better,  and  then  said,  I am  afraid  I cannot  translate 
it  literally  ; but  surely,  madam,  you  can  do  it  yourself ! ” 

Yes  ; but  I like  your  French  better  than  mine  ; so  pray 
oblige  me.” 

He  had  done  the  same  kind  of  thing  a hundred  times  for 
her,  and,  without  further  discussion,  wrote  as  follows  : — 

L’amour  tel  qu’une  biche  blessee,  se  trahit  lui-meme  par 
sa  crainte,  qui  fait  remuer  le  feuillage  qui  le  couvre.” 

‘‘  Bless  me,  how  pretty  ! ” cried  she,  and  immediately  put  it 
into  her  bosom. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


201 


j To  this  unlucky  addition  of  the  words  trahit  lui-ine77ie 
I rhaddeus  was  indebted  for  the  present  of  the  folded  paper. 
The  ever-working  imagination  of  Euphemia  had  seized  the  in- 
erted thought  as  a delicate  avowal  that  he  was  the  wounded 
leer  he  had  substituted  in  place  of  the  wild  beast ; and  as  soon 
IS  he  arrived  at  home,  he  found  the  fruits  of  her  mistake  in  the 
lacket  she  had  given  with  so  much  secrecy. 

When  he  broke  the  seal,  something  dropped  out  and  fell  on 
he  carpet.  He  took  it  up,  and  blushed  for  her  on  finding  a gold 
nedallion,  with  the  words  he  had  altered  for  Miss  Euphemia 
ngraved  on  blue  enamel.  With  a vexed  haste  he  next  looked 
.t  the  envelope ; it  contained  a copy  of  verses,  with  this  line 
mtten  at  the  top  ; 

‘‘  To  him  who  will  apply  them.’’ 

On  perusing  them,  he  found  them  to  be  Mrs.  Phillips’s 
)eautiful  translation  of  that  ode  of  Sappho  which  runs — 

Blest  as  the  immortal  gods  is  he, 

The  friend  who  fondly  sits  by  thee, 

And  hears  and  sees  thee  all  the  while 
Softly  speak  and  sweetly  smile  ! 

’Twas  this  deprived  my  soul  of  rest, 

And  rais’d  such  tumults  in  my  breast: 

For  while  I gazed,  in  transport  tost, 

My  breath  was  gone,  my  voice  was  lost. 

“ My  bosom  glow’d  ; the  subtle  flame 
Ran  quick  through  all  my  vital  frame  ; 

O’er  my  dim  eyes  a darkness  hung; 

My  ears  with  hollow  murmurs  rung. 

“ In  dewy  damps  my  limbs  were  chill’d  , 

My  blood  with  gentle  horrors  thrill’d  : 

My  feeble  pulse  forgot  to  play; 

I fainted,  sunk  and  died  away ! 

“Eupmemia. 

Thaddeus  threw  the  verses  and  the  medallion  together  on 
he  table,  and  sat  for  a few  minutes  considering  how  he  could 
xtricate  himself  from  an  affair  so  truly  farcical  in  itself,  but 
/hich  might  be  productive  of  a very  distressing  consequence  to 
dm. 

He  was  thinking  of  at  once  giving  up  the  task  of  attending 
' ither  of  the  sisters,  when  his  eyes  falling  on  the  uncomplaining 
)ut  melancholy  features  of  his  poor  friend,  he  exclaimed,  No  ; 
or  thy  sake,  gallant  Butzou,  I will  brave  every  scene,  however 
-bhorrent  to  my  heart.” 


202 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


Well  aware,  from  observation  on  Miss  Euphemia,  that  the 
seeming  tenderness  which  prompted  an  act  so  wild  and  unbe- 
coming originated  in  mere  caprice,  he  did  not  hesitate  in  deter- 
mining to  return  the  things  in  as  handsome  a manner  as  possible, 
and  by  so  doing,  at  once  crush  the  whole  affair.  He  felt  no 
pain  in  forming  those  resolves,  because  he  saw  that  not  one 
impulse  of  her  conduct  sprung  from  her  heart.  It  was  a whim 
raised  by  him  to-day,  which  might  be  superseded  by  another  to- 
morrow. 

But  how  different  was  the  case  with  regard  to  Lady  Sara  ! 
Her  uncontrolled  nature  could  not  long  brook  the  restraints  of 
friendship.  Every  attention  he  gave  to  Lady  Tinemouth,  every 
civility  he  paid  to  Miss  Egerton,  or  to  any  other  lady  whom  he 
met  at  the  countess’s,  went  like  a dagger  to  her  soul ; and  when- 
ever she  could  gain  his  ear  in  private,  she  generally  made 
him  sensible  of  her  misery,  and  his  own  unhappiness  in  being 
its  cause,  by  reproaches  which  too  unequivocally  proclaimed 
their  source. 

He  now  saw  that  she  had  given  way  to  a reprehensible  and 
headstrong  passion  ; and,  allowing  for  the  politeness  which  i? 
due  to  the  sex,  he  tried,  by  an  appearance  of  the  most  stubborn 
coldness,  and  an  obstinate  perversity  in  shutting  his  apprehen 
sion  against  all  her  speeches  and  actions,  to  stem  a tide  that 
threatened  her  with  ruin. 

Lady  Tinemouth  at  least  began  to  open  her  eyes  to  the 
perilous  situation  of  both  her  friemds.  Highly  as  she  esteemec 
Thaddeus,  she  knew  not  the  extent  of  his  integrity.  She  hac 
lived  too  long  near  the  circle  of  the  heir  apparent,  and  hac 
seen  too  many  men  from  the  courts  of  the  continent,  to  place 
much  reliance  on  the  firmness  of  a single  and  unattached  youn^ 
man  when  assailed  by  rank,  beauty  and  love. 

Alarmed  at  what  might  be  the  result  of  her  observations 
and  fearing  to  lose  any  time,  she  had  that  very  evening  ii 
which  she  expected  Thaddeus  to  supper  drawn  out  of  Lad^ 
Sara  the  unhappy  state  of  her  heart. 

The  dreadful  confession  was  made  by  her  ladyship,  witi 
repeated  showers  of  tears,  and  in  paroxysms  of  agony  whicl 
pierced  the  countess  to  the  soul. 

“My  dear  Lady  Sara,”  cried  she,  “for  heaven’s  sake,  re 
member  your  duty  to  Captain  Ross  ! ” 

“ I shall  never  forget  it,”  exclaimed  her  ladyship,  shakin: 
her  head  mournfully,  and  striking  her  breast  with  her  clenche( 
hand,  “ I never  look  on  the  face  of  Constantine  that  I do  no 
execrate  from  my  heart  the  vows  which  I have  sworn  to  Ross 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


203 

)Ut  I have  bound  myself  his  property,  and  though  I hate  him, 
i^hatever  it  may  cost  me,  I will  never  forget  that  my  faith  and 
lonor  are  my  husband’s.’’ 

With  a countenance  bathed  in  tears.  Lady  Tinemouth  put 
?ier  arms  round  the  waist  of  Lady  Sara,  who  now  sat  motion- 
3SS,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire. 

‘‘  Dear  Lady  Sara ! that  was  spoken  like  yourself.  Do 
lore  ; abstain  from  seeing  Mr.  Constantine.” 

Don’t  require  of  me  that  ? ” cried  she  ; ‘‘  I could  easier 
td  myself  of  existence.  He  is  the  very  essence  of  my  happiness, 
t is  only  in  his  company  that  I forget  that  I aifi  a wretch.” 

“ This  is  obstinacy,  my  dear  Lady  Sara  ! This  is  courting 
anger.” 

‘‘  Lady  Tinemouth,  urge  me  no  more.  Is  it  not  enough  1 ” 
[ontinued  she,  sullenly,  ‘‘  that  I am  miserable  1 Would  you 
rive  me  to  desperation  ? If  there  be  danger ; you  brought  me 
;ito  it.” 

! Lady  Sara  1 ” 

‘‘Yes,  you.  Lady  Tinemouth  ; you  introduced  him  to  me.” 
“But  you  are  married!  Singularly  attractive  and  amiable 
p indeed  he  is,  could  I suppose ” 

: “ Nonsense  1 ” cried  her  ladyship,  interrupting  her  ; “ you 

snow  that  I am  married  to  a mere  sailor,  more  in  love  with  his 
^ly  ship  than  with  me  1 But  it  is  not  because  Constantine  is 
.)  handsome  that  I like  him.  No;  though  no  human  form 
an  come^  nearer  to  perfection,  yet  it  was  not  that : it  was  you. 
ou  and  Sophia  Egerton  were  always  telling  me  of  his  bravery ; 
chat  wealth  and  honors  he  had  sacrificed  in  the  service  of  liis 
mntry;  how  nobly  he  succored  the  distresses  of  others;  how 
iedless  he  was  of  his  own.  This  fired  my  imagination  and 
Dn  my  heart.  No  ; it  was  not  his  personal  attractions  : I am 
)t  so  despicable  ! ” 

“ Dear  Lady  Sara,  be  calm  I ” entreated  the  countess,  corn- 
I etely  at  a loss  how  to  manage  a spirit  of  such  violence. 

I Think,  my  dear  friend,  what  horrors  you  would  experience 
I'  Mr.  Constantine  were  to  discover  this  predilection,  and 
j esume  upon  it ! You  know  where  even  the  best  men  are  vul- 
rable.” 

|v  The  eyes  of  Lady  Sara  sparkled  with  pleasure. 

! “ Why,  surely.  Lady  Sara ! ” exclaimed  Lady  Tinemouth, 
ubtingly. 

j)  “Don’t  fear  me.  Lady  Tinemouth  ; I know  my  own  dignity 
.3  well  to  do  anything  disgraceful ; yet  I would  acquire  the 
liowledge  that  he  loves  me  at  almost  any  price.  But  he  is 


204  THADDEm  OF  IVAFSAW. 

cold,”  added  she : “ he  is  a piece  of  obstinate  petrefactioi 
which  Heaven  itself  could  not  melt ! ” 

Lady  Tineinouth  was  glad  to  hear  this  account  of  Thai 
deus  ; but  ere  she  could  reply,  the  drawing-room  door  opend 
and  Miss  Euphemia  Dundas  was  announced. 

When  the  little  beauty  expressed  her  amazement  at  n 
seeing  Mr.  Constantine,  Lady  Sara  gave  her  such  a witherii 
look,  that  had  her  ladyship’s  eyes  been  Medusan,  poor  Euph 
mia  would  have  stood  there  forever  after,  a stone  statue  of  di 
appointment. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  COUNTESS  OF  TINEMOUTH’S  STORY. 

Meanwhile  the  count,  having  seen  Dr.  Cavendish,  a 
received  a favorable  opinion  of  his  friend,  wrote  the  followi 
note  to  Miss  Euphemia  : — 

^‘To  Miss  Euphemia  Dundas. 

Mr.  Constantine  very  much  admires  the  taste  of  M 
Euphemia  Dundas  in  her  choice  of  the  verses  which  she  c 
him  the  honor  of  requesting  he  would  translate  iuto^  the  im 
expressive  language,  and  to  the  utmost  of  his  abilities  he  1 
obeyed  her  commands  in  Italian,  thinking^  that  language  t 
best  adapted  to  the  versification  of  the  original.  ^ 

‘‘  Mr.  Constantine  equally  admires  the  style  of  the  mec 
lion  which  Miss  E.  Dundas  has  condescended  to  enclose 
his  inspection,  and  assures  her  the  letters  are  correct. 

Having  sealed  his  note,  and  seen  the  general  in  bed,  w 
little  Nanny  seated  by  I'lim  to  watch  his  slumbers,  T.hadd( 
pursued  his  way  to  Grosvenor  Place. 

When  he  entered  Lady  d'inemouth’s  drawing-room,  he 
that  his  young  inamorata  had  already  arrived,  and  was  in  cl< 
conversation  with  the  countess.  Lady  Sara,  seated  alone  o 
sofa,  inwardly  upbraided  Constantine  for  what  she  thought 
absolute  assignation  with  Euphemia.  ^ 

Her  half-resentful  eyes,  yet  dewed  wdth  the  tears  which 
discourse  wfith  Lady  Tinemouth  had  occasioned,  soug  it 
averted  face^  while  he  looked  at  Miss  Dundas  with  evid 


THADDEUS  OF  tVARSAlV. 


205 


arprise  and  disgust.  This  pleased  her : and  the  more  so  as 
e only  bowed  to  her  rival,  shook  the  countess  by  the  hand, 
nd  then  turning,  took  his  station  beside  herself  on  the  sofa. 

She  would  not  trust  her  triumphant  eyes  towards  Lady 
'inemouth,  but  immediately  asked  him  some  trifling  question, 
i.t  the  same  moment  Euphemia  tapped  him  on  the  arm  with 
er  fan,  and  inquired  how  it  happened  that  she  had  arrived 

He  was  answering  Lady  Sara.  Euphemia  impatiently  le- 
eated  her  demand,  “ How  did  it  happen  that  I arrived  first  ? 

“ I suppose,  madam,”  replied  he,  smiling,  “ because  you 
'ere  so  fortunate  as  to  set  out  first.  But  had  I been  so 
appy  as  to  have  preceded  you,  the  message  and  present  with 
Lich  I was  honored  would  have  been  faithfully  delivered,  and 
hope  your  ladyship  will  permit  me  to  do  it  now,”  said  he, 
ising,  and  taking  Euphemia’s  rose  from  his  button,  as  he  ap- 
Toached  the  countess ; “ Miss  Euphemia  Dundas  had  done 
le  the  honor  to  make  me  the  bearer  of  sweets  to  the  sweet , 
nd  thus  I surrender  my  trust.”  He  bowed,^  and  put  the 
ower  into  Lady  Tinemouth’s  hand,  who  smiled  and  thanked 
Euphemia.  But  the  little  beauty  blushed  like  her  own  rose  ; 
nd  murmuring  within  herself  at  the  literal  apprehension  of 
er  favorite,  whom  she  thought  as  handsome  as  Cimon,  and 
5 s stupid  too,  she  flirted  her  fan,  and  asked  Miss  Egerton 
(whether  she  had  read  Charlotte  Smith’s  last  delightful  novel. 

I The  evening  passed  off  more  agreeably  to  lhaddeus  than 
I e had  augured  on  his  entrance.  Lady  Sara  always  embar- 
assed  and  pained  him  ; Miss  Euphemia  teased  him  to  death  ; 
ut  to-night  the  storm  which  had  agitated  the^  breast  of  her 
iidyship  having  subsided  into  thoughtfulness,  it  imparted  so 
1 bstracted  an  air  to  her  ever-lovely  countenance,  that,  merely 
D elude  communication  with  Euphemia,  he  remained  near  her, 
nd  by  paying  those  attentions  which,  so  situated,  he  could  not 
[void,  he  so  deluded  the  wretched  Lady  Sara,  as  to  subdue 
er  melancholy  into  an  enchanting  softness  which  to  any  other 
lan  might  have  rendered  her  the  most  captivating  woman  on 
arth. 

, The  only  person  present  who  did  not  approve  this  change 
j/as  Lady  Tinemouth.  At  every  dissolving  smile  of  her  Cir- 
ean  ladyship,  she  thought  she  beheld  the  intoxicating  cup  at 
he  lips  of  Thaddeus,  and  dreaded  its  effect.  Euphemia  was 
IDO  busily  employed  repeating  some  new  poems,  and  too  in- 
r)ensely  dreaming  of  what  her  tutor  might  say  on  the  verses 
nd  medallion  in  his  possession,  to  observe  the  dangerous 

I 


2o6  THADDEUS  of  WARSAW 

ascendency  which  the  superior  charms  of  Lady  Sara  might  ac- 
quire over  his  heart.  Indeed,  she  had  no  suspicion  of  finding 
a rival  in  her  ladyship ; and  when  a servant  announced  the 
arrival  of  her  mother’s  coach,  and  she  saw  by  her  watch  that 
it  was  twelve  o’clock,  she  arose  reluctantly,  exclaiming, 

“I  dare  say  some  plaguing  people  have  arrived  who  are  to 
stay  with  us,  else  mamma  would  not  have  sent  for  me  so  soon.” 

“ I call  it  late,”  said  Lady  Sara,  who  would  not  lose  an  op- 
portunity of  contradicting  her  ; ‘‘  so  I will  thank  you,  Mr.  Con- 
stantine,” addressing  herself  to  him,  ''  to  hand  me  to  my  coach 
at  the  same  time.” 

Euphemia  bit  her  lip  at  this  movement  of  her  ladyship,  and 
followed  her  down  stairs,  reddening  with  anger.  Her  carriage 
being  first,  she  was  obliged  to  get  into  it,  but  would  not  suffer 
the  servant  to  close  the  door  until  she  had  seen  Lady  Sara 
seated  in  hers;  and  then  she  called  to  Mr.  Constantine  toi 
speak  with  her. 

Lady  Sara  leaned  her  head  out  of  the  window.  While  she  I 
saw  the  man  she  loved  approach  Lady  Dundas’s  carriage,  she,  I 
in  her  turn,  bit  her  lips  with  vexation. 

“ Home,  my  lady ” asked  the  servant,  touching  his  hat. 

No  ; not  till  Miss  Dundas’s  coach  drives  on. 

Miss  Euphemia  desired  Thaddeus  to  step  in  for  a moment, ' 
and  he  reluctantly  obeyed. 

“ Mr.  Constantine  ! ” cried  the  pretty  simpleton,  trembling 
with  expectation,  as  she  made  room  for  him  beside  her,  “ have 
you  opened  the  paper  I gave  you  ? ” 

‘‘Yes,  madam,”  returned  he,  holding  the  door  open,  and 
widening  it  with  one  hand,  whilst  with  the  other  he  presented 
his  note,  “ and  I have  the  honor,  in  that  paper,  to  have  exe 
cuted  your  commands.” 

Euphemia  caught  it  eagerly  ; and  Thaddeus  immediately 
leaping  out,  wished  her  a good-night,  and  hurried  back  into 
the  house.  Whilst  the  carriages  drove  away,  he  ascended  to 
the  drawing-room,  to  take  leave  of  the  countess. 

Lady  Tinemouth,  seated  on  the  sofa,  was  leaning  thought- 
fully against  one  of  its  arms  when  he  re-entered.  He  ap- 
proached her. 

“ I wish  you  a good-night.  Lady  Tinemouth.” 

She  turned  her  head. 

“ Mr.  Constantine,  I wish  you  would  stay  a little  longer 
with  me  ! ^ My  spirits  are  disturbed,  and  I am  afraid  it  will  be 
near  morning  before  Sophia  returns  from  Richmond.  These 
rural  balls  are  sad,  dissipated  amusements  1 ” 


Thaddeus  of  wafsa  w. 


207 

Thaddeus  laid  down  his  hat  and  took  a seat  by  her  side. 

, am  happy,  dear  Lady  Tinemouth,  at  all  times  to  be 
ith  you  ; but  I am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  have  met  with  any 
ling  to  discompose  you.  I was  afraid  when  I came  in  that 

)mething  disagreeable  had  happened  ; your  eyes ’’ 

: Alas  ! if  my  eyes  were  always  to  show  when  I have  been 

' eeping,  they  might  ever  be  telling  tales  ! Her  ladyship 
assed  her  hand  across  them,  while  she  added,  We  may  think 
n our  sorrows  with  an  outward  air  of  tranquillity,  but  we  can- 
ot  always  speak  of  them  without  some  agitation.'’ 

‘‘  Ah,  Lady  Tinemouth  ! " exclaimed  the  count,  drawing 
loser  to  her;  ‘‘could  not  even  your  generous  sympathizing 
;eart  escape  calamity  ? " 

I “ To  cherish  a sympathizing  heart,  my  young  friend,"  re- 
ilied  she,  “ is  not  a very  effectual  way  to  avoid  the  pressure  of 
ffliction.  On  the  reverse,  such  a temper  extracts  unhappiness 
'om  causes  which  would  fail  to  extort  even  a sigh  from  dispo- 
itions  of  less  susceptibility.  Ideas  of  sensibility  and  sympathy 
re  pretty  toys  for  a novice  to  play  with  ; but  change  those 
^ooden  swords  into  weapons  of  real  metal,  and  you  will  find 
le  points  through  your  heart  before  you  are  aware  of  the  dan- 
er — at  least,  I find  it  so.  Mr.  Constantine,  I have  frequently 
romised  to  explain  to  you  the  reason  of  the  sadness  which  so 
ften  tinges  my  conversation ; and  I know  not  when  I shall  be 
;i  a fitter  humor  to  indulge  myself  at  your  expense,  for  I never 
^^as  more  wretched,  never  stood  more  in  need  of  the  consola- 
Lons  of  a friend." 

I She  covered  her  face  with  her  handkerchief,  and  remained 
io  for  some  time.  Thaddeus  pressed  her  hand  several  times, 
nd  waited  in  respectful  silence  until  she  recommenced. 

“ Forgive  me,  my  dear  sir  ; I am  very  low  to-night — very 
ervous.  Having  encountered  two  or  three  distressing  cir- 
(Umstances  to-day,  these  tears  relieve  me.  You  have  heard 
(le  speak  of  my  son,  and  of  my  lord  ; yet  I never  collected  re- 
olution  to  recount  how  we  were  separated.  This  morning  I 
aw  my  son  pass  my  window  ; he  looked  up  ; but  the  moment 

appeared,  he  turned  away  and  hastened  down  the  street, 
^hough  I have  received  many  stronger  proofs  of  dislike,  both 
rom  his  father  and  himself,  yet  slight  as  this  offence  may 
eem,  it  pierced  me  to  the  soul.  O,  Mr.  Constantine,  to  know 
^hat  the  child  to  whom  I gave  life  regards  me  with  abhorrence, 
> dreadful — is  beyond  even  the  anxious  partiality  of  a mother 
dther  to  excuse  or  to  palliate  ! " 

“Perhaps,  dear  Lady  Tinemouth,  you  misjudge  Lord  Har- 


2o8 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


wold  ; he  may  be  under  the  commands  of  his  father,  and  yet 
yearn  to  show  you  his  affection  and  duty/’ 

“ No,  Mr.  Constantine  ; your  heart  is  too  good  even  to 
guess  what  may  be  the  guilt  of  another.  Gracious  Heaven 
am  I obliged  to  speak  so  of  my  son  ! — he  who  was  my  darling!’ 
— he  who  once  loved  me  so  dearly!  But  hear  me,  my  dear 
sir  ; you  shall  judge  for  yourself,  and  you  will  wonder  that  1 
am  now  alive  to  endure  more.  I have  suffered  by  him,  by  his 
father,  and  by  a dreadful  woman,  who  not  only  tore  my  hus- 
band and  children  from  me,  but  stood  by  till  I was  beaten  to 
the  ground.  Yes,  Mr.  Constantine,  any  humane,  man  would 
shudder  as  you  do  at  such  an  assertion  ; but  it  is  too  true. 
Soon  after  Lady  Olivia  Lovel  became  the  mistress  of  my  lord,^ 
and  persuaded  him  to  take  my  son  from  me,  I heard  that  the 
poor  boy  had  fallen  ill  through  grief,  and  lay  sick  at  his  lord- 
ship’s house  in  Hampshire.  I heard  he  was  dying.  Imagine; 
my  agonies.  Wild  with  distress,  I flew  to  the  park  lodge,  and, 
forgetful  of  anything  but  my  child,  was  hastening  across  thei 
park,  when  I saw  this  woman,  this  Lady  Olivia,  approaching; 
me,  followed  by  two  female  servants.  One  of  them  carried  my 
daughter,  then  an  infant,  in  her  arms  ; and  the  other,  a child 
of  which  this  unnatural  wretch  had  recently  become  the  mother. 
I was  flying  towards  my  little  Albina,  to  clasp  her  to  my  heart, 
when  Lady  Olivia  caught  hold  of  my  arm.  Her  voice  now 
rings  in  my  ears.  ‘ Woman  1 ’ cried  she,  ‘ leave  this  place  : 
there  are  none  here  to  whom  you  are  not  an  object  of  abhor- 
rence.’ 

Struggling  to  break  from  her,  I implored  to  be  perniitted 
to  embrace  my  child ; but  she  held  me  fast,  and,  regardless  of 
my  cries,  ordered  both  the  women  to  return  into  the  house. 
Driven  to  despair,  I dropped  on  my  knees,  conjuring  her,  b> 
her  feelings  as  a mother,  to  allow  me  for  one  moment  to  se^ 
my  dying  son,  and  that  I would  promise,  by  my  hopes  of  ever- 
lasting happiness,  to  cherish  her  child  as  my  own  should  it  ever 
stand-in  need  of  a friend.  The  horrid  woman  only  laughed  at 
my  prayers,  and  left  me  in  a swoon.  When  I recovered,  the 
first  objects  I beheld  were  my  lord  and  Lady  Olivia  standing 
near  me,  and  myself  in  the  arms  of  a man-servant,  whom  the) 
had  commanded  to  carry  me  outside  the  gate.  At  the  sight  o: 
my  husband,  I sprang  to  his  feet,  when  with  one  dreadful  blo^^ 
of  his  hand  he  struck  me  to  the  ground.  Merciful  Providence 
how  did  I retain  my  senses  1 I besought  this  cruel  husband  tc 
give  me  a second  blow,  that  I might  suffer  no  more.  ^ 

“ ‘ Take  her  out  of  my  sight,’  cried  he  * ‘ she  is  ma-d/ 


THADDEUS  OF  IVAESAW. 


209 

I was  taken  out  of  his  sight,  more  dead  than  alive,  and 
led  by  his  pitying  servants  to  an-  inn,  where  I was  afterwards 
, confined  for  three  weeks  with  a brain  fever.  From  that  hour  I 
have  never  had  a day  of  health.” 

Thaddeus  was  shocked  beyond  utterance  at  this  relation. 
\fThQ  paleness  of  his  countenance  being  the  only  reply  he  made, 
. the  anguished  narrator  resumed. 

“ I have  gone  out  of  order.  I proposed  to  inform  you 
r:learly  of  my  situation,  but  the  principal  outrage  of  my  heart 
^ rose  immediately  to  my  lips.  I will  commence  regularly,  if  I 
1!  can  methodize  my  recollection. 

“ The  Earl  of  Tinemouth  married  me  from  passion  : I will 
I Qot  sanctify  his  emotions  by  the  name  of  affection  ; though,” 
i added  she,  forcing  a smile,  ‘‘  these  faded  features  too  plainly 
I show  that  of  all  mankind,  I loved  but  him  alone.  I was  just 
1 ifteen  when  he  came  to  visit  my  father,  who  lived  in  Berkshire. 
My  father,  Mr.  Cumnor,  and  his  father.  Lord  Harwold,  had 
I been  friends  at  college.  My  lord,  then  Mr.  Stanhope,  was 
young,  handsome,  and  captivating.  He  remained  the  autumn 
»vith  us,  and  at  the  end  of  that  period  declared  an  affection  for 
’ ne  which  my  heart  too  readily  answered.  About  this  time  he 
[received  a summons  from  his  father,  and  we  parted.  Like 
nost  girls  of  my  age,  I cherished  an  unconquerable  bashfulness 
Ligainst  admitting  any  confidant  to  my  attachment;  hence  my 
I Daren ts  knew  nothing  of  the  affair  until  it  burst  upon  them  in 
;he  cruelest  shape. 

About  two  months  after  Mr.  Stanhope’s  departure,  a letter 
arrived  from  him,  urging  me  to  fly  with  him  to  Scotland.  He 
^ dleged  as  a reason  for  such  a step  that  his  grandfather,  the 
.^3.jl.  of  Tinemouth,  insisted  on  his  forming  a union  with  Lady 
! 31ivia  Lovel,  who  was  then  a young  widow,  and  the  favorite 
i liece  of  the  most  powerful  nobleman  in  the  kingdom.  Upon 
his  demand,  he  confessed  to  the  earl  that  his  affections  were 
,;ngaged.  His  lordship,  whose  passions  were  those  of  a mad- 
;nan,  broke  into  such  horrible  execrations  of  myself  and  my 
*amily,  that  Mr.  Stanhope,  himself,  alas  ! enraged,  intemper- 
Ltely  swore  that  no  power  on  earth  should  compel  him  to  marry 
! o notorious  a woman  as  Lady  Olivia  Lovel,  nor  to  give  me  up. 

• Uter  communicating  these  particulars,  he  concluded  with  re- 
I jeating  his  entreaties  that  I would  consent  to  marry  him  in 
I Scotland.  The  whole  of  this  letter  so  alarmed  me,  that  I 
I howed  it  to  my  parents.  My  father  answered  it  in  a manner 
I 'efitting  his  own  character ; but  that  only  irritated  the  impet- 
; lous  passions  of  my  lover.  In  the  paroxysm  of  his  rage,  he 


210 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


flew  to  the  earl  his  grandfather,  upbraided  him  with  the  ruin  of 
his  happiness,  and  so  exasperated  the  old  man,  that  he  drew 
his  sword  upon  him ; and  had  it  not  been  for  the  interference 
of  his  father.  Lord  Harwold,  who  happened  to  enter  at  the 
moment,  a most  fatal  catastrophe  might  have  ensued.  To  end 
the  affair  at  once,  the  latter,  whose  gentle  nature  embraced  the 
mildest  measures,  obtained  the  earl’s  permission  to  send  Mr. 
Stanhope  abroad. 

“ Meanwhile  I was  upheld  by  my  revered  parent,  wlio  is 
now  no  more,  in  firmly  rejecting  my  lover’s  entreaties  for  a 
private  marriage.  And  as  his  grandfather  continued  resolutely 
deaf  to  his  prayers  or  threats,  he  was  at  length  persuaded  by 
his  excellent  father  to  accompany  some  friends  to  France. 

“ At  the  end  of  a few  weeks  Mr.  Stanhope  began  to  regard 
them  as  spies  on  him  ; and  after  a violent  quarrel,  they  parted, 
no  one  knowing  to  what  quarter  my  lover  directed  his  steps,  I 
believe  I was  the  first  who  heard  any  tidings  of  him.  I remem- 
ber well ; it  was  in  1773,  about  four-and-twenty  years  ago,  that 
I received  a letter  from  him.  Oh  ! how  legibly  are  these  cir- 
cumstances written  on  my  memory  ! It  was  dated  from  Italy, 
where,  he  told  me,  he  resided  in  complete  retirement,  under  the 
assumed  name  of  Sackville.” 

At  this  name,  with  every  feature  fixed  in  dismay,  Thaddeus 
fell  back  on  the  sofa. 

The  countess  caught  his  hand. 

“ What  is  the  matter  ? You  are  ill  ? What  is  the  matter  ? ” 

The  bolt  of  indelible  disgrace  had  struck  to  his  heart.  It 
was  some  minutes  before  he  could  recover ; but  when  he  did 
speak,  he  said,  Pray  go  on,  madam  ; I am  subject  to  this. 
Pray  forgive  me,  and  go  on  ; I shall  become  better  as  you 
proceed.” 

“ No,  my  dear  friend  ; I will  quit  my  dismal  story  at  present, 
and  resume  it  some  other  time.” 

‘‘  Pray  continue  it  now,”  rejoined  Thaddeus  ; ‘‘  I shall  never 
be  more  fit  to  listen.  Do,  I entreat  you.” 

“ Are  you  sincere  in  your  request  ? I fear  I have  already 
affected  you  too  much.” 

“ No  ; I am  sincere  : let  me  hear  it  all.  Do  not  hold  back 
anything  which  relates  to  that  stain  to  the  name  of  Englishman, 
who  completed  his  crimes  by  rendering  you  wretched  ! ” 

^‘Alas!  he  did,”  resumed  her  ladyship  ; “ for  when  he  re- 
turned, which  was  in  consequence  of  the  Earl  of  Tinemouth’s 
death,  my  father  was  also  dead,  who  might  have  stood  between 
me  and  my  inclinations,  and  so  preserved  me  from  many  sue- 


7 HAD  DEVS  OF  tVARSAtV, 


211 

Deeding  sorrows.  I sealed  my  fate,  and  became  Stanhope^s 
wife. 

‘‘  The  father  of  my  husband  was  then  Earl  of  Tinemouth  ; 
and  as  he  had  never  been  averse  to  our  union,  he  presented  me 
with  a cottage  on  the  banks  of  the  Wye,  where  I passed  three 
delightful  years,  the  happiest  of  womankind.  My  husband,  my 
nother,  and  my  infant  son  formed  my  felicity ; and  greatly  I 
Drize  it — too  greatly  to  be  allowed  a long  continuance  ! 

“ At  the  end  of  this  period,  some  gay  friends  paid  us  a visit. 
vVhen  they  returned  to  town,  they  persuaded  my  lord  to  be  of  the 
)arty.  He  went ; and  from  that  fatal  day  all  my  sufferings  arose. 

‘‘  Lord  Harwold,  instead  of  being  with  me  in  a fortnight,  as 
le  had  promised,  procrastinated  his  absence  under  various  ex- 
cuses from  week  to  week,  during  which  interval  my  Albina  was 
)orn.  Day  after  day  I anticipated  the  delight  of  putting  her 
nto  the  arms  of  her  father  ; but,  what  a chasm  ! she  was  three 
nonths  old  before  he  appeared  ; and  ah  ! how  changed.  He 
v^as  gloomy  to  me,  uncivil  to  my  mother,  and  hardly  looked  at 
he  child.’^ 

Lady  Tinemouth  stopped  at  this  part  of  her  narrative  to 
yipe  away  her  tears.  Thaddeus  was  sitting  forward  to  the 
able,  leaning  on  his  arm,  with  his  hand  covering  his  face.  The 
ountess  was  grateful  for  an  excess  of  sympathy  she  did  not  ex- 
pect ; and  taking  his  other  hand,  as  it  lay  motionless  on  his 
nee,  “ What  a consolation  would  it  be  to  me,’’  exclaimed  she, 
durst  I entertain  a hope  that  I may  one  day  behold  but  half 
uch  pity  from  my  own  son  ! ” 

Thaddeus  pressed  her  hand.  He  did  not  venture  to  reply ; 
e could  not  tell  her  that  she  deceived  herself  even  here  ; that  it 
/as  not  her  sorrows  only  which  so  affected  him,  but  the  remem- 
ered  agonies  of  his  own  mother,  whom  he  did  not  doubt  the 
apricious  villany  of  this  very  earl,  under  the  name  of  Sackville 
I name  that  had  struck  like  a death-bolt  to  the  heart  of  Thad- 
eus  when  he  first  heard  his  mother  utter  it),  had  devoted  to  a 
fe  of  uncomplaining  but  ceaseless  self-reproach.  And  had  he 
erived  his  existence  from  such  a man — the  reprobate  husband 
f Lady  Tinemouth  ! The  conviction  humbled  him,  crushed 
im,  and  trod  him  to  the  earth.  He  did  not  look  up,  and  the 
)untess  resumed : 

“ It  would  be  impossible,  my  dear  sir,  to  describe  to  you 
le  gradual  changes  which  assured  me  that  I had  lost  the  heart 
: my  husband.  Before  the  end  of  the  winter  he  left  me  again, 
id  I saw  him  no  more  until  that  frightful  hour  in  which  he 
ruck  me  to  the  ground. 


Hi 


THADDEUS  OF  IVAESAW. 


“ The  good  earl  came  into  Monmouthshire  about  six  weeks 
after  I parted  with  my  lord.  I was  surprised  and  rejoiced  to 
see  my  kind  father-in-law ; but  how  soon  were  my  emotions 
driven  into  a different  course ! He  revealed  to  me  that  during 
Lord  Harwold’s  first  visit  to  town  he  had  been  in  the  habit  ot 
spending  entire  evenings  with  Lady  Olivia  Lovel. 

“ ‘ This  woman,’  added  he,  ‘ is  the  most  artful  of  her  sex.  In 
spite  of  her  acknowledged  dishonor,  you  well  know  my  deceased 
father  would  gladly  have  married  her  to  my  son;  and  now  it 
seems,  actuated  by  revenge,  she  resents  Lord  Harwold  s refusal 
of  her  hand  by  seducing  him  from  his  wife.  Alas  ! I am  too 
■well  convinced  that  the  errors  of  my  son  bear  too  strict  a 
resemblance  to  those  of  his  grandfather.  Vain  of  his  superior 
abilities,  and  impatient  of  contradiction,  flattery  can  mould  him 
to  what  it  pleases.  Lady  Olivia  had  discovered  these  weak 
points  in  his  character ; and,  I am  informed,  she  soon  persuaded 
him  that  vou  impose  on  his  affection  by  detaining  him  from  the 
world;  and,  seconded  by  other  ^fascinations,  my  deluded  son 

has  accompanied  her  into  Spain.’  ^ a-  . fhic 

“You  may  imagine,  Mr.  Constantine,  my  distraction  at  this 
intelligence.  I was  like  one  lost ; and  the  venerable  earl  fear- 
ngto'trustme  in  such  despair  out  of  his  sight,  brought  me 
and  my  children  with  him  to  London.  In  less  than  four  months 
afterwards,  I was  deprived  of  this  inestimable  f'-'end  by  a para 
lytic  stroke.  His  death  summoned  the  new  earl  ^ England 
Whilst  I lay  on  a sick  bed,  into  which  I had  been  thrown  by 
the  shock  of  my  protector’s  death,  my  lord  and  his  mistress 

arrived  in  London.  , i 

“ They  immediately  assumed  the  command  of  my  lamentea 
father-in-iaw’s  house,  and  ordered  my  mother  to  clear  if  direct  y 
of  me.  My  heart-broken  parent  obeyed,  and  I was  carried 
a senseless  state  to  a lodging  in  the  nearest  street.  But  when 

this  dear  mother  returned  for  'a?tulmd 

permitted  to  see  her.  The  maugnant  Lady  Olivia,  actuated 

by  an  insatiable  hatred  of  me,  easily  wrought  on  my  frame 
hLband  (for  I must  believe  him  mad)  to  detain  them  entirely 
A short  time  after  this,  that  dreadful  scene  happened  which  ] 

have  before  described.  • j 

“ Year  succeeded  year,  during  which  time  I received  man> 
cruel  insults  from  my  husband,  many  horrible  ones  from  mj 
son ; for  I had  been  advised  to  institute  a suit  against  my  ‘ord 
in  which  I only  pleaded  for  the  return  o my  children  I losi 
my  cause,  owing,  I hope,  to  bad  counsel,  riot  t e . 

country.  I was  adjudged  to  be  separated  from  the  earl,  will 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W, 


213 


a maintenance  of  six  hundred  a-year,  which  he  hardly  pays. 
I was  tied  down  never  to  speak  to  him,  nor  to  his  son  nor  his 
daughter.  Though  this  sentence  was  passed,  I never  acknowl- 
edged its  justice,  but  wrote  several  times  to  my  children.  Lord 
Harwold,  who  is  too  deeply  infected  with  his  father^s  cruelty, 
has  either  returned  my  letters  unopened  or  with  insulting  re- 
plies. For  my  daughter,  she  keeps  an  undeviating  silence  ; and 
I have  not  even  seen  her  since  the  moment  in  which  she  was 
hurried  from  my  eyes  in  Tinemouth  Park. 

“ In  vain  her  brother  tries  to  convince  me  that  she  detests 
me.  I will  not  believe  it ; and  the  hope  that,  should  I survive 
her  father,  I may  yet  embrace  my  child,  has  been,  and  will  be, 
my  source  of  maternal  comfort  until  it  be  fulfilled,  or  I bury 
my  disappointment  in  the  grave.” 

Lady  Tinemouth  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  which 
■ were  again  flowing  with  tears.  Thaddeus  thought  he  must 
speak,  if  he  would  not  betray  an  interest  in  her  narrative,  which 
Hie  determined  no  circumstance  should  ever  humble  him  to  re- 
veal. Raising  his  head  from  his  hand,  he  unconsciously  dis- 
covered  to  the  countess  his  agonized  countenance. 

• Kind,  affectionate  Constantine  ! surely  such  a heart  as 
thine  never  would  bring  sorr6\v  to  the  breast  of  a virtuous  hus- 
band! You  could  never  betray  the  self-deluded  Lady  Sara  to 
any  fatal  error  ! ” 

Lady  Tinemouth  did  not  utter  these  thoughts.  Thaddeus 
; rose  from  his  seat. 

‘‘  Farewell,  my  honored  friend  ! ” said  he  ; may  Heaven 
bless  you  and  pardon  your  husband  ! ” 

Then  grasping  her  hand,  with  what  he  intended  should  be 
a pressure  of  friendship,  but  which  his  internal  tortures  rendered 
almost  intolerable,  he  hastened  downstairs,  opened  the  outward 
door,  and  got  into  the  street. 

^ Unknowing  and  heedless  whither  he  went,  with  the  steps  of 
a man  driven  by  the  furies,  he  traversed  one  street  and  then 
another.  As  he  went  along,  in  vain  the  watchmen  reminded 
him  by  their  cries  that  it  was  past  three  o’clock  : he  still  wan- 
1 dered  on,  forgetting  that  it  was  night,  that  he  had  any  home, 
any  destination. 

His  father  was  discovered ! — that  father  of  whom  he  had 
’ entertained  a latent  hope,  should  they  ever  meet,  that  he  might 
1 produce  some  excuse  for  having  been  betrayed  into  an  act  dis- 
' graceful  to  a man  of  honor.  But  when  all  these  filial  dreams 
I were  blasted  by  the  conviction  that  he  owed  his  being  to  the 
[ husband  of  Lady  Tinemouth,  that  his  mother  was  the  victim  of 


214 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


a profligate,  that  he  had  sprung  from  a man  who  was  not  merely 
a villain,  but  the  most  wanton,  the  most  despicable  of  villains, 
he  saw  himself  bereft  of  hope  and  overwhelmed  with  shame 
and  horror. 

Full  of  reflections  which  none  other  than  a son  in  such  cir- 
cumstances can  conceive,  he  was  ost  amidst  the  obscure  alleys 
of  Tottenham  Court  Yard,  when  loud  and  frequent  cries  recalled 
his  attention.  A quantity  of  smoke,  with  flashes  of  light,  led 
him  to  suppose  that  they  were  occasioned  by  a fire  ; and  a few 
steps  further  the  awful  spectacle  burst  upon  his  sight. 

It  was  a house  from  the  windows  of  which  the  flames  were 
breaking  out  in  every  direction,  whilst  a gathering  concourse  of 
people  were  either  standing  in  stupefied  astonishment  or  use- 
lessly shouting  for  engines  and  assistance. 

At  the  moment  in  which  he  arrived,  two  or  three  naked 
wretches  just  escaped  from  their  beds,  were  flying  from  side  to 
side,  making  the  air  echo  with  their  shrieks. 

Will  nobody  save  my  children  ? ’’  cried  one  of  them,  ap- 
proaching Thaddeus,  and  wringing  her  hands  in  agony ; “ will 
nobody  take  them  from  the  fire 

‘‘Where  shall  I seek  them  1 replied  he. 

“ Oh  ! in  that  room,”  exclaimed  she,  pointing  ; “ the  flames 
are  already  there  ; they  will  be  burnt ! they  will  be  burnt ! ” 

The  poor  woman  was  hurrying  madly  forward,  when  the 
count  stopped  her,  and  giving  her  in  charge  of  a bystander, 
cried  : “Take  care  of  this  woman,  if  possible,  I will  save  her 
children.”  Darting  through  the  open  door,  in  defiance  of  the 
smoke  and  danger,  he  made  his  way  to  the  children’s  room, 
where,  almost  suffocated  by  the  sulphurous  cloud  that  sur- 
rounded him,  he  at  last  found  the  bed  ; but  it  contained  one 
child  only.  This  he  instantly  caught  up  in  his  arms,  and  was 
hastening  down  the  stairs,  when  the  cries  of  the  other  from  a 
distant  part  of  the  building  made  him  hesitate  ; but  thinking  it 
better  to  secure  one  than  to  hazard  both  by  lingering,  he  rushed 
into  the  street  just  as  a post-chaise  had  stopped  to  inquire  the 
particulars  of  the  accident.  The  carriage-door  being  open, 
Thaddeus,  seeing  ladies  in  it,  without  saying  a word,  threw  the 
sleeping  infant  into  their  laps,  and  hastened  back  into  the 
house,  where  he  hoped  to  rescue  the  other  child  before  the  fire 
could  increase  to  warrant  despair. 

The  flames  having  now  made  dreadful  progress,  his  face, 
hands,  and  clothes  were  scorched  by  their  fury  as  he  flew  from 
the  room,  following  the  shrieks  of  the  child,  who  seemed  to 
change  its  situation  with  every  exertion  that  he  made  to  reach 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


2IS 

it.  At  length,  when  every  moment  he  expected  the  house 
would  sink  under  his  feet,  as  a last  attempt  he  directed  his  steps 
along  a passage  he  had  not  before  observed,  and  to  his  great 
joy  beheld  the  object  of  his  search  flying  down  a back  staircase. 
The  boy  sprung  into  his  arms  ; and  Thaddeus,  turning  round, 
leaped  from  one  landing-place  to  another,  until  he  found  'him 
self  again  in  the  street,  surrounded  by  a crowd  of  people. 

He  saw  the  poor  mother  clasp  this  second  rescued  child  to 
her  breast ; and  whilst  the  spectators  were  loading  her  with 
congratulations,  he  slipped  away  unseen,  and  proceeded  home- 
wards, with  a warmth  at  his  heart  which  made  him  forget,  in  the 
joy  of  a benevolent  action,  that  petrifying  shock  which  had 
been  occasioned  by  the  vices  of  one  too  nearly  allied  to  his 
being  to  be  hated  without  horror. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  KINDREDSHIP  OF  MINDS. 

When  Thaddeus  awoke  next  morning,  he  found  himself 
more  refreshed,  and  freer  from  the  effects  of  the  last  night’s 
discovery,  than  he  could  have  reasonably  hoped.  The  pres- 
ence of  mind  and  activity  which  the  fire  called  on  him  to  exert, 
having  forced  his  thoughts  ^nto  a different  channel,  had  afforded 
his  nerves  an  opportunity  to  regain  some  portion  of  their  usual 
strength.  He  could  now  reflect  on  what  he  had  heard  without 
suffering  the  crimes  of  another  to  lay  him  on  the  rack.  The 
reins  were  again  restored  to  his  hand,  and  neither  agitation  nor 
anxiety  showed  themselves  in  his  face  or  manner. 

Though  the  count’s  sensibility  was  very  irritable,  and  when 
suddenly  excited  he  could  not  always  conceal  his  emotion,  yet 
he  possessed  a power  of  look  which  immediately  repressed  the 
impertinence  of  curiosity  or  insolence.  Indeed,  this  mantle  of 
repulsion  proved  to  be  his  best  shield  ; for  never  had  man  more 
demands  on  the  dignity  of  his  soul  to  shine  out  about  his  person. 

Not  unfrequently  has  his  sudden  appearance  in  the  study- 
room  at  Lady  Dundas’s  at  once  called  a natural  glow  through 
the  ladies’  rouge,  and  silenced  the  gentlemen,  when  he  has 
happened  to  enter  while  Miss  Dundas  and  half-a-dozen  other 
beaux  and  belles  have  been  ridiculing  Euphemia  on  the  absurd 
civilities  she  paid  to  her  language-master  ' 


2i6 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W, 


The  morning  after  the  fire,  a little  bevy  of  these  fashionable 
butterflies  were  collected  in  this  way  at  one  corner  of  Miss 
Dundas’s  Hercules  table,  when,  during  a moment’s  pause,  “ I 
hope.  Miss  Beaufort,”  cried  the  Honorable  Mr.  Lascelles,  “ I 
hope  you  don’t  intend  to  consume  the  brightness  of  your  eyes 
over  this  stupid  language  ? ” 

What  language,  Mr.  Lascelles  ? ” inquired  she  j I have 
this  moment  entered  the  room,  and  I don’t  know  what  you  are 
talking  about.” 

‘‘  Good  Lud ! that  is  very  true,”  cried  he  ; ‘‘  I mean  a 
shocking  jargon,  which  a shocking  penseroso  man  teaches  to 
these  ladies.  We  want  to  persuade  Miss  Euphemia  that  it 
spoils  her  mouth.” 

You  are  always  misconceiving  me,  Mr.  Lascelles,”  inter- 
rupted Miss  Dundus,  impatiently ; ‘‘  I did  not  advance  one 
word  against  the  language  ; I merely  remonstrated  with  Phemy 
against  her  preposterous  attentions  to  the  man  we  hire  to 
teach  it.” 

That  was  what  I meant,  madam,”  resumed  he,  with  a low 

bow. 

“ You  meant  what,  sir  } ” demanded  the  little  beauty,  con- 
temptuously ; “ but  I need  not  ask.  You  are  like  a bad  mirror, 
which  from  radical  defect  always  gives  false  reflections.” 

^‘Very  good,  efaith,  Miss  Euphemia!  I declare,  sterling 
wit ! It  would  honor  Sheridan,  or  your  sister.” 

“ Mr.  Lascelles,”  cried  Euphemia,  more  vexed  than  before, 
let  me  tell  you  such  impertinence  is  very  unbecoming  a gen- 
tleman.” • 

Upon  my  soul.  Miss  Euphemia  1 ” 

^•Pray  allow  the  petulant  young  lady  to  get  out  of  her  airs, 
as  she  has,  I believe,  got  out  of  her  senses,  without  our  help  1 ” 
exclaimed  Miss  Dundas  j “ for  I declare  I know  not  where  she 
picked  up  these  vile  democratic  ideas.” 

‘‘  I am  not  a democrat,  Diana,”  answered  Euphemia,  rising 
from  her  seat ; ‘‘  and  I won’t  stay  to  be  abused,  when  I know 
it  is  all  envy,  because  Mr.  Constantine  happened  to  say  that  I 
have  a quicker  memory  than  you  have.” 

She  left  the  room  as  she  ended.  Miss  Dundas,  ready  to 
storm  with  passion,  but  striving  to  conceal  it,  burst  into  a vio- 
lent laugh,  and  turning  to  Miss  Beaufort,  said  : ‘‘  You  now  see, 
my  dear  Mary,  a sad  specimen  of  Euphemia’s  temper ; yet  I 
hope  you  won’t  think  too  severely  of  her,  for,  poor  thing,  she 
has  been  spoilt  by  us  all.” 

Pray,  do  not  apologize  to  me  in  particular ! ” replied  Miss 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 


217 


Beaufort;  ^‘but,  to  be  frank,  I think  it  probable  she  would 
have  shown  her  temper  less  had  that  little  admonition  been 
given  in  private.  I doubt  not  she  has  committed  something 
wrong,  yet ’’ 

Yes,  something  very  wrong,’’  interrupted  Miss  Dundas, 

I reddening  at  this  rebuke  ; “ both  Mr.  Lascelles  and  Lord  Ber- 
i.rington  there ” 

j “ Don’t  bring  in  my  name,  I pray.  Miss  Dundas,”  cried  the 
I viscount,  who  was  looking  over  an  old  edition  of  Massinger’s 
plays  ; you  know  I hate  being  squeezed  into  squabbles.” 

: Miss  Dundas  dropped  the  corners  of  her  mouth  in  contempt, 

and  went  on. 

“ Well,  then,  Mr.  Lascelles,  and  Miss  Poyntz,  here,  have 
both  at  different  times  been  present  when  Phemy  has  con- 
ducted herself  in  a very  ridiculous  way  towards  a young  man 
Lady  Tinemouth  sent  here  to  teach  us  German.  Can  you  be- 
lieve it  possible  that  a girl  of  her  fashion  could  behave  in  this 
style  without  having  first  imbibed  some  very  dangerous  notions  } 
I am  sure  I am  right,  for  she  could  not  be  more  civil  to  him  if 
he  were  a gentleman.”  Miss  Dundas  supposed  she  had  now 
set  the  affair  beyond  controversy,  and  stopped  with  an  air  of 
triumph.  Miss  Beaufort  perceived  that  her  answer  was  ex- 
pected. 

I really  cannot  discover  anything  in  the  matter  so  very 
reprehensible,”  replied  she.  ‘‘  Perhaps  the  person  you  speak 
of  may  have  the  qualifications  of  a gentleman  ; he  may  be 
above  his  situation.” 

“ Ah  ! above  it,  sure  enough  ! ” cried  Lascelles,  laughing 
boisterously  at  his  own  folly.  He  is  tall  enough  to  be  above 
everything,  even  good  manners  ; for  notwithstanding  his  plebe- 
ian calling,  I find  he  doesn’t  know  how  to  keep  his  distance.” 

‘‘  I am  sorry  for  that,  Lascelles,”  cried  Berrington,  measur- 
ing the  puppy  with  his  good-natured  eye  ; “ for  these  Magog 
men  are  terrible  objects  to  us  of  meaner  dimensions  ! ‘ A sub- 

stitute shines  brightly  as  a king  until  a king  be  by,’  ” 

‘‘  Why,  my  lord,  you  do  not  mean  to  compare  me  with  such 
a low  fellow  as  this  ? I don’t  understand  Lord  Berring- 
ton  ” 

Bless  me,  gentlemen  ! ” cried  Miss  Dundas,  frightened  at 
the  angry  looks  of  the  little  honorable  ; “ why,  my  lord,  I 
thought  you  hated  squabbles  ? ” 

“ So  I do.  Miss  Dundas,”  replied  he,  laying  down  his  book 
and  coming  forward;  ‘‘and  upon  my  honor,  Mr.  Lascelles,  ’ 
added  he,  smiling,  and  turning  towards  the  coxcomb,  wlvj 


2i8 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


stood  nidging  his  head  with  anger  by  Miss  Beaufort^s  chair, — 
^‘upon  my  honor,  Mr.  Lascelles,  I did  not  mean  to  draw  any 
parallel  between  your  person  and  talents  and  those  of  this  Mr. 

— , I forget  his  name,  for  truly  I never  saw  him  in  my 

life  j but  I dare  swear  no  comparison  can  exist  between  you.’' 

Lascelles  took  the  surface  of  this  speech,  and  bowed,  whilst 
his  lordship,  turning  to  Miss  Beaufort,  began  to  compliment 
himself  on  possessing  so  fair  an  ally  in  defence  of  an  absent 
person. 

“ I never  have  seen  him,”  replied  she ; and  what  is  more, 
I never  heard  of  him,  till  on  entering  the  room  Mr.  Lascelles 
arrested  me  for  my  opinion  about  him.  I only  arrived  from 
the  country  last  night,  and  can  have  no  guess  at  the  real 
grounds  of  this  ill-judged  bustle  of  Miss  Dundas’s  regarding  a 
man  she  styles  despicable.  If  he  be  so,  why  retain  him  in  her 
service  ? and,  what  is  more  absurd,  why  make  a person  in 
that  subordinate  situation  the  subject  of  debate  amongst  her 
friends  ” 

You  are  right,  Miss  Beaufort,  returned  Lord  Berrington ; 
but  the  eloquent  Miss  Dundas  is  so  condescending  to  her 
friends,  she  lets  no  opportunity  slip  of  displaying  her  sceptre, 
both  over  the  republic  of  words  and  the  empire  of  her  mother’s 
family.” 

“ Are  not  you  severe  now,  Lord  Berrington  ? I thought 
you  generous  to  the  poor  tutor  ! ” 

“ No  ; I hope  I am  just  on  both  subjects.  I know  the  lady, 
and  it  is  true  that  I have  seen  nothing  of  the  tutor ; but  it  is 
natural  to  wield  the  sword  in  favor  of  the  defenceless,  and  I 
always  consider  the  absent  in  that  light.” 

Whilst  these  two  conversed  at  one  end  of  the  room,  the 
other  group  were  arraigning  the  presumption  of  the  vulgar, 
and  the  folly  of  those  who  gave  it  encouragement. 

At  a fresh  burst  of  laughter  from  Miss  Dundas,  Miss  Beau- 
fort mechanically  turned  her  head  ; her  eye  was  arrested  by 
the  appearance  of  a gentleman  in  black,  who  was  standing  a 
few  paces  within  the  door.  He  was  regarding  the  party  before 
him  with  that  lofty  tranquillity  which  is  inseparable  from  high 
rank,  when^ accompanied  by  a consciousness  of  as  high  inward 
qualities.  His  figure,  his  face,  and  his  air  contained  that  pure 
simplicity  of  contour  which  portrays  all  the  graces  of  youth 
with  the  dignity  of  manhood. 

Miss  Beaufort  in  a moment  perceived  that  he  was  unob 
served  ; rising  from  her  seat,  she  said,  Miss  Dundas,  here  is 
p,  gentleman,” 


THADDEUS  OF  WAESAJV. 


2 J r) 

Miss  Dundas  looked  round  carelessly. 

“You  may  sit  down,  Mr.  Constantine.’’ 

“ Is  it  possible  ! ” thought  Miss  Beaufort,  as  he  approached, 
and  the  ingenuous  expression  of  his  fine  countenance  was 
directed  towards  her ; ‘‘  can  this  noble  creature  have  been  the 
I subject  of  such  impertinence  ! ” 

' “I  commend  little  Phemy’s  taste  ! ” whispered  Lord  Ber- 
j rington,  leaving  his  seat.  ‘‘  Ha ! Miss  Beaufort,  a voun^ 
i Apollo J 

^ And  not  in  disguise  ! ” replied  she  in  the  same  manner, 
just  as  Thaddeus  had  bowed  to  her ; and,  with  veiled  lids,” 
was  taking  up  a book  from  the  table : not  to  read,  but  literally 
to  have  an  object  to  look  on  which  could  not  insult  him. 

What  did  Miss  Dundas  say  was  his  name  ? ” whispered 
the  viscount. 

“ Constantine,  I think.” 

“Mr.  Constantine,”  said  the  benevolent  Berrington,  “will 
you  accept  this  chair ” 

Thaddeus  declined  it.  But  the  viscount  read  in  the  “ proud 
humility  ” of  his  bow  that  he  had  not  always  waited,  a depend- 
ent, on  the  nods  of  insolent  men  and  ladies  of  fashion  j and, 
with  a good-humored  compulsion,  he  added,  “pray  oblige  me 
for  by  that  means  I shall  have  an  excuse  to  squeeze  into  the 
Sultane,  which  is  so  ‘ happy  as  to  bear  the  weight  of  Beaufort ! ’ ” 

^ Though  Miss  Beaufort  was  almost  a stranger  to  his  lord- 
ship,  having  seen  him  only  once  before,  with  her  cousin  in 
Leicestershire,  she  smiled  at  this  unexpected  gallantry,  and  in 
consideration  of  the  motive,  made  room  for  him  on  the  sofa. 

Offence  was  not  swifter  than  kindness  in  its  passage  to  the 
heart  of  Thaddeus,  who,  whilst  he  received  the  viscount’s  chair, 
raised  his  face  towards  him  with  a look  beaming  such  gracious- 
ness and  obligation,  that  Miss  Beaufort  turned  with  a renewed 
glance  of  contempt  on  the  party.  The  next  instant  they  left 
the  study. 

The  instant  Miss  Dundas  closed  the  door  after  her.  Lord 
Berrington  exclaimed,  Upon  my  honor,  Mr.  Constantine,  I 
have  a good  mind  to  put  that  terrible  pupil  of  yours  into  my 
next  comedy ! Don’t  you  think  she  would  beat  Katharine  and 
Petruchio  all  to  nothing } I declare  I will  have  her.” 

‘"Iw  propria  persona,  I hope.?”  asked  Miss  Beaufort,  with  a 
playful  smile.  Lord  Berrington  answered  with  a gay  sally  from 
Shakspeare. 

The  count  remained  silent  during  these  remarks,  though  he 
lUlly  appreciated  the  first  civil  treatment  which  had  greeted 


220 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


him  since  his  admission  within  the  doors  of  Lady  Dundas. 
Miss  Euphemia’s  attentions  owned  any  other  source  than  be- 
nevolence. 

Miss  Beaufort  wished  to  relieve  his  embarrassment  by  ad- 
dressing him  ; but  the  more  she  thought,  the  less  she  knew  what 
to  say ; and  she  had  just  abandoned  it  as  .a  vain  attempt,  when 
Euphemia  entered  the  room  alone.  She  curtseyed  to  Thaddeus, 
and  took  her  place  at  the  table.  Lord  Berrington  rose. 

I must  say  good-by,  Miss  Euphemia ; I will  not  disturb 
your  studies.  Farewell,  Miss  Beaufort ! added  he,  addressing 
her,  and  bending  his  lips  to  her  hand.  “Adieu!  1 shall  look 
in  upon  you  to-morrow.  Good-morning,  Mr.  Constantine!” 

Thaddeus  bowed  to  him,  and  the  viscount  disappeared. 

“ I am  surprised,  Miss  Beaufort,”  observed  Euphemia,  pet- 
tishly  (her  temper  not  having  subsided  since  her  sister’s  lecture)^ 
“ how  you  can  endure  that  coxcomb  ! ” 

“ Pardon  me,  Euphemia,”  replied  she ; “ though  I did  not 
exactly  expect  the  ceremony  his  lordship  adopts  in  taking  leave, 
yet  I think  there  is  a generosity  in  his  sentiments  which  deserves 
a better  title.” 

“I  know  nothing  about  his  sentiments,  for  I always  run 
away  from  his  conversation.  A better  title ! I declare  you 
make  me  laugh.  Did  you  ever  see  such  fantastical  dressing? 
I vow  I never  meet  him  without  thinking  of  Jemmy  Jessamy, 
and  the  rest  of  the  gossamer  beaux  who  squired  our  grand- 
mothers ! ” 

“ My  acquaintance  with  Lord  Berrington  is  trifling,”  re- 
turned Miss  Beaufort,  withdrawing  her  eyes  from  the  pensive 
features  of  the  count,  who  was  sorting  the  lessons ; “ yet  I am 
so  far  prepossessed  in  his  favor,  that  I see  little  in  his  appear- 
ance to  reprehend.  However,  I will  not  contest  that  point,  as 
perhaps  the  philanthropy  I this  morning  discovered  in  his  heart, 
the  honest  warmth  with  which  he  defended  an  absent  character, 
after  you  left  the  room,  might  render  his  person  as  charming 
in  my  eyes  as  I certainly  found  his  mind.” 

Thaddeus  had  not  for  a long  time  heard  such  sentiments 
out  of  Lady  Tinemouth’s  circle  ; and  he  now  looked  up  to  take 
a distinct  view  of  the  speaker. 

In  consequence  of  the  established  mode,  that  the  presiding 
lady  of  the  house  is  to  give  the  tone  to  her  guests,  many  were 
the  visitors  of  Miss  Dundas  whose  faces  Thaddeus  was  as  igno- 
rant of  when  they  went  out  of  the  library  as  when  they  came  in. 
They  took  little  notice  of  him  ; and  he,  regarding  them  much 
less,  pursued  his  occupation  without  evincing  a greater  con- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAtV. 


221 


sciousness  of  their  presence  than  what  mere  ceremony  de- 
manded. 

Accordingly,  when  in  compliance  with  Lord  Berrington’s 
politeness  he  received  his  chair,  and  saw  him  remove  to  a sofa 
beside  a very  beautiful  woman,  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  Thaddeus 
supposed  her  manner  might  resemble  the  rest  of  Miss  Dundas’s 
friends,  and  never  directed  his  glance  a second  time  to  her 
figure.  But  when  he  heard  her  (in  a voice  that  was  melody 
itself)  defend  his  lordship’s  character,  on  principles  which  bore 
the  most  honorable  testimony  to  her  own,  his  eyes  were  riveted 
on  her  face. 

Though  a large  Turkish  shawl  involved  her  fine  person,  a 
modest  grace  was  observable  in  its  every  turn.  Her  exquisitely 
moulded  arm,  rather  veiled  than  concealed  by  the  muslin  sleeve 
that  covered  it,  was  extended  in  the  gentle  energy  of  her  vindi- 
cation. Her  lucid  eyes  shone  with  a sincere  benevolence,  and 
her  lips  seemed  to  breathe  balm  while  she  spoke.  His  soul 
startled  within  itself  as  if  by  some  strange  recognition  that 
agitated  him,  and  drew  him  inexplicably  towards  its  object.  It 
was  not  the  beauty  he  beheld,  nor  the  words  she  uttered,  but 
he  did  not  withdraw  his  fixed  gaze  until  it  encountered  an 
accidental  turn  of  her  eyes,  which  instantly  retreated  with  a 
deep  blush  mantling  her  face  and  neck.  She  had  never  met 
such  a look  before,  except  in  an  occasional  penetrating  glance 
from  an  only  cousin,  who  had  long  watched  the  movements  of 
her  heart  with  a brother’s  care. 

But  little  did  Thaddeus  think  at  that  time  who  she  was,  and 
how  nearly  connected  with  that  friend  whose  neglect  has  been 
a venomed  shaft  unto  his  soul ! 

Mary  Beaufort  was  the  orphan  heiress  of  Admiral  Beaufort, 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  officers  in  the  British  navy.  He 
was  the  only  brother  of  the  now  lamented  Lady  Somerset,  the 
beloved  mother  of  Pembroke  Somerset,  so  often  the  eloquent 
subject  of  his  discourse  in  the  sympathizing  ear  of  Thaddeus 
Sobieski ! The  admiral  and  his  wife,  a person  also  of  high 
quality,  died  within  a few  months  after  the  birth  of  their  only 
child,  a daughter,  having  bequeathed  her  to  the  care  of  her 
paternal  aunt ; and  to  the  sole  guardianship  of  that  exemplary 
lady’s  universally-honored  husband.  Sir  Robert  Somerset, 
baronet,  and  M.  P.  for  the  county.  When  Lady  Somerset’s 
death  spread  mourning  throughout  his,  till  then,  happy  home, 
(which  unforeseen  event  occurred  hardly  a week  before  her 
devoted  son  returned  from  the  shores  of  the  Baltic,)  a double 
portion  of  Sir  Robert’s  tenderness  fell  upon  her  cherished  niece. 


222 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


In  her  society  alone  he  found  any  consolation  for  his  loss. 
And  soon  after  Pembroke’s  arrival,  his  widowed  father,  relin- 
quishing the  splendid  scenes  of  his  former  life  in  London,  re- 
tired into  the  country,  sometimes  residing  at  one  family  seat, 
sometimes  at  another,  hoping  by  change  of  place  to  obtain  some 
alleviating  diversion  from  his  ever  sorrow-centred  thoughts. 

Sir  Robert  Somerset,  from  the  time  of  his  marriage  with  the 
accomplished  sister  of  Admiral  Beaufort  to  the  hour  in  which 
he  followed  her  to  the  grave,  was  regarded  as  the  most  admired 
man  in  every  circle,  and  yet  more  publicly  respected  as  being 
the  magnificent  host  and  most  munificent  patron  of  talent, 
particularly  of  British  growth,,  in  the  whole  land.  Besides,  by 
his  own  genius  as  a statesman,  he  often  stood  a tower  of 
strength  in  the  senate  of  his  country ; and  his  general  probity 
was  of  such  a stamp,  that  his  private  friends  were  all  solicitous 
to  acquire  the  protection  of  his  name  over  any  important  trusted 
interests  for  their  families.  For  instance,  the  excellent  Lord 
Avon  consigned  his  only  child  to  his  guardianship,  and  his 
wealthy  neighbor.  Sir  Hector  Dundas,  made  him  sole  trustee 
over  the  immense  fortunes  of  his  daughters. 

This  latter  circumstance  explains  the  intimacy  between  two 
families,  the  female  parts  of  which  might  otherwise  have 
probably  seldom  met. 

On  Sir  Robert  Somerset’s  last  transient  visit  to  London, 
(which  had  been  only  on  a call  of  business,  on  account  of  his 
minor  charge.  Lord  Avon,)  Lady  Dundas  became  so  urgent  in 
requesting  him  to  permit  Miss  Beaufort  to  pass  the  ensuing 
season  with  her  in  town,  that  he  could  not,  without  rudeness, 
refuse.  In  compliance  with  this  arrangement,  the  gentle  Mary, 
accompcWiied  by  Miss  Dorothy  Somerset,  a maiden  sister  of  the 
baronet’s,  quitted  Deerhurst  to  settle  themselves  with  her  im- 
portunate ladyship  in  Harley  Street  for  the  remainder  of  the 
winter — at  least  the  winter  of  fashion  ! which,  by  a strange  effect 
of  her  magic  wand,  in  defiance  of  grassy  meadows,  leafy  trees, 
and  sweetly-scented  flowers,  extends  its  nominal  sceptre  over 
the  vernal  months  of  April,  May,  and  even  the  rich  treasures 
of  ‘‘resplendent  June.” 

The  summer  part  of  this  winter  Miss  Beaufort  reluctantly 
consented  should  be  sacrificed  to  ceremony,  in  the  dust  and 
heat  of  a great  city  ; and  if  the  melancholy  which  daily  increased 
upon  Sir  Robert  since  the  death  of  his  wife  had  not  rendered 
her  averse  to  oppose  his  wishes,  she  certainly  w^ould  have  made 
objections  to  the  visit. 

During  the  journey,  she  could  not  refrain  from  drawing  a 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAIV. 


223 


comparison  to  Miss  Dorothy  between  the  dissipated  insipidity 
of  Lady  Dundas’s  way  of  life  and  the  rationality  as  well  as 
splendor  of  her  late  lamented  aunt’s. 

Lady  Somerset’s  monthly  assemblies  were  not  the  most 
elegant  and  brilliant  parties  in  town,  but  her  weekly  conversazi- 
ones surpassed  everything  of  the  kind  in  the  kingdom.  On  these 
nights  her  ladyship’s  rooms  used  to  be  filled  with  the  most 
eminent  characters  which  England  could  produce.  There  the 
young  Mary  Beaufort  listened  to  pious  divines  of  every  Chris- 
tian persuasion.  There  she  gathered  wisdom  from  real  phi- 
losophers ; and  in  the  society  of  our  best  living  poets,  amongst 
whom  were  those  leaders  of  our  classic  song,  Rogers  and 
William  Southey,  and  the  amiable  Jerningham,  cherished  an 
enthusiasm  for  all  that  is  great  and  good.  On  these  evenings 
Sir  Robert  Somerset’s  house  reminded  the  visitor  of  what  he 
had  read  or  imagined  of  the  school  of  Athens.  He  beheld  not 
only  sages,  soldiers,  statesmen,  and  poets,  but  intelligent  and 
amiable  women.  And  in  this  rare  assembly  did  the  beautiful 
Mary  imbibe  that  steady  reverence  for  virtue  and  talent  which 
no  intermixture  with  the  ephemera  of  the  day  could  ever  after 
either  displace  or  impair. 

Notwithstanding  this  rare  freedom  from  the  chains  with 
which  her  merely  fashionable  friends  would  have  shackled  her 
mind,  Miss  Beaufort  possessed  too  much  judgment  and  delicacy 
to  flash  her  liberty  in  their  eyes.  Enjoying  her  independence 
with  meekness,  she  held  it  more  secure.  Mary  was  no  de- 
claimer,  not  even  in  the  cause  of  oppressed  goodness  or  in- 
jured genius.  Aware  that  direct  opposition  often  incenses 
malice,  she  directed  the  shaft  from  its  aim,  if  it  were  in  her 
power,  and  when  the  attempt  failed,  strove  by  respect  or  sym- 
pathy to  heal  the  wound  she  could  not  avert.  Thus,  whatever 
she  said  or  did  bore  the  stamp  of  her  soul,  whose  leading  attrib- 
ute was  modesty.  By  having  learned  much,  and  thought  more, 
she  proved  in  her  conduct  that  reflection  is  the  alchemy  which 
turns  knowledge  into  wisdom. 

Never  did  she  feel  so  much  regret  at  the  shrinking  of  her 
powers  from  coming  forth  by  some  word  or  deed  in  aid  of 
offended  worth,  as  wlien  she  beheld  the  foreign  stranger,  so 
noble  in  aspect,  standing  under  the  overbearing  insolence  of 
Miss  Dundas’s  parasites.  But  she  perceived  that  his  dignified 
composure  rebounded  their  darts  upon  his  insulters,  and  re- 
spect took  the  place  of  pity.  The  situation  was  new  to  her ; 
and  when  she  dropped  her  confused  eyes  beneath  his  unex- 
pected gaze,  she  marvelled  within  herself  at  the  ease  with  which 


^24 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  m 


she  had  just  taken  up  the  cause  of  Lord  Berrington,  and  the 
difficulty  she  had  found  to  summon  one  word  as  a repellant  to 
the  unmerited  attack  on  the  man  before  her. 

Euphemia  cared  nothing  about  Lord  Berrington  : to  her  his 
faults  or  his  virtues  were  alike  indifferent ; and  forgetting  that 
civility  demanded  some  reply  to  Miss  Beaufort’s  last  observa- 
tion, or  rather  taking  advantage  of  the  tolerated  privilege 
usurped  by  many  high-bred  people  of  being  ill-bred,  when  and 
how  they  pleased,  she  returned  to  Thaddeus,  and  said  with  a 
forced  smile — 

Mr.  Constantine,  I don’t  like  your  opinion  upon  the  ode 
I showed  to  you ; I think  it  a very  absurd  opinion ; or  perhaps 
you  did  not  understand  me  rightly  ? ” 

Miss  Beaufort  took  up  a book,  that  her  unoccupied  atten- 
tion might  not  disturb  their  studies. 

Euphemia  resumed,  with  a more  natural  dimple,  and  touch- 
ing his  glove  with  the  rosy  points  of  her  fingers,  said, 

“You  are  stupid  at  translation.” 

Thaddeus  colored,  and  sat  uneasily ; he  knew  not  how  to 
evade  this  direct  though  covert  attack. 

“ I am  a bad  poet,  madam.  Indeed,  it  would  be  dangerous 
even  for  a «:ood  one  to  attempt  the  same  path  with  Sappho  and 
Phillips.” 

Euphemia  now  blushed  as  deeply  as  the  count,  but  from 
another  motive.  Opening  her  grammar,  she  whispered,  “ You 
are  either  a very  dull  or  a very  modest  man  ! ” and,  sighing, 
began  to  repeat  her  lesson. 

While  he  bent  his  head  over  the  sheet  he  was  correcting, 
she  suddenly  exclaimed,  “Bless  me,  Mr.  Constantine,  what 
have  you  been  doing  ? I hope  you  don’t  read  in  bed  ! The 
top  of  your  hair  is  burnt  to  a cinder  ! Why,  you  look  much  more 
like  one  who  has  been  in  a fire  than  Miss  Beaufort  does.” 

Thaddeus  put  his  hand  to  his  head. 

“ I thought  I had  brushed  away  all  marks  of  a fire,  in  which 
I really  was  last  night.” 

“ A fire  ! ” interrupted  Miss  Beaufort,  closing  her  book ; 
“ was  it  near  Tottenham  Court  Road  ? ” 

“ It  was,  madam,”  answered  he,  in  a tone  almost  as  sur- 
prised as  her  own. 

“ Good  gracious  ! ” cried  Euphemia,  exerting  her  little  voice, 
that  she  might  be  heard  before  Miss  Beaufort  could  have  time 
to  reply;  “then  I vow  you  are  the  gentleman  who  Miss  Beau- 
fort said  ran  into  the  burning  house,  and,  covered  with  flames, 
saved  two  children  from  perishing  ! ” 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


22$ 


‘‘  And  I am  so  happy  as  to  meet  one  of  the  ladies/’  replied 
he,  turning  with  an  animated  air  to  Miss  Beaufort,  “ in  you, 
madam,  who  so  humanely  assisted  the  poor  sufferers,  and  re- 
ceived the  child  from  my  arms  ? ” 

‘‘  It  was  indeed  myself,  Mr.  Constantine,”  returned  she,  a 
tear  swimming  over  her  eye,  which  in  a moment  gave  the  cue 
to  the  tender  Euphemia.  She  drew  out  her  handkerchief  ; and 
whilst  her  pretty  cheeks  overflowed,  and  her  sweet  voice  was 
rendered  sweeter  by  an  emotion  raised  by  ten  thousand  de- 
lightful fancies,  she  took  hold  of  Miss  Beaufort’s  hand. 

‘‘  Oh ! my  lovely  friend,  wonder  not  that  I esteem  this  brave 
Constantine  far  beyond  his  present  station  ! ” 

Thaddeus  drew  back.  Miss  Beaufort  looked  amazed  ; but 
Euphemia  had  mounted  her  romantic  Pegasus,  and  the  scene 
was  too  sentimental  to  close. 

“ Come  here,  Mr.  Constantine,”  cried  she,  extending  her 
other  hand  to  his.  Wondering  where  this  folly  would  terminate, 
he  gave  it  to  her,  when,  instantly  joining  it  with  that  of  Miss 
Beaufort,  she  pressed  them  together,  and  said,  “ Sweet  Mary  ! 
heroic  Constantine  ! I thus  elect  you  the  two  dearest  friends  of 
my  heart.  So  charmingly  associated  in  the  delightful  task  of 
compassion,  you  shall  ever  be  commingled  in  my  faithful 
bosom.” 

Then  putting  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  she  walked  out 
of  the  room,  leaving  Miss  Beaufort  and  the  count,  confused 
and  confounded,  by  the  side  of  each  other.  Miss  Beaufort, 
suspecting  that  some  extravagant  fancy  had  taken  possession 
of  the  susceptible  Euphemia  towards  her  young  tutor,  declined 
speaking  first.  Thaddeus,  fixing  his  gaze  on  her  downcast  and 
revolving  countenance,  perceived  nothing  like  offended  pride 
at  his  undesigned  presumption.  He  saw  that  she  was  only  em- 
barrassed, and  after  a minute’s  hesitation,  broke  the  silence. 

“ I hope  that  Miss  Beaufort  is  sufficiently  acquainted  with 
the  romance  of  Miss  Euphemia’s  character  to  pardon  the  ac- 
tion, unintentional  on  my  part,  of  having  touched  her  hand  ? 
I declare  I had  no  expectation  of  Miss  Euphemia’s  design.” 

“ Do  not  make  any  apology  to  me,  Mr.  Constantine,”  re- 
turned she,  resuming  her  seat ; “ to  be  sure  I was  a little  elec- 
trified by  the  strange  situation  in  which  her  vivid  feelings  have 
just  made  us  actors.  But  I shall  not  forego  my  claim  on  what 
she  promised — your  acquaintance.” 

Thaddeus  expressed  his  high  sense  of  her  condescension. 

“ I am  not  fond  of  fine  terms,”  continued  she,  smiling ; 
‘‘  but  I know  that  time  and  merit  must  purchase  esteem.  I 


226 


TIIADDElfS  OF  IVAFSAPF. 


can  engage  for  the  first,  as  I am  to  remain  in  town  at  least 
three  months  ; but  for  the  last,  I fear  I shall  never  have  the 
opportunity  of  giving  such  an  earnest  of  my  desert  as  you  did 
last  night  of  yours.” 

Footsteps  sounded  on  the  stairs.  Thaddeus  took  up  his 
hat,  and  bowing,  replied  to  her  compliment  with  such  a modest 
yet  noble  grace,  that  she  gazed  after  him  with  wonder  and  con- 
cern. Before  he  closed  the  door  he  again  bowed.  Pleased 
with  the  transient  look  of  a soft  pleasure  which  beamed  from 
his  eyes,  through  whose  ingenuous  mirrors  every  thought  of 
his  soul  might  be  read,  she  smiled  a second  adieu  and  as  he 
disappeared,  left  the  room  by  another  passage. 


CHAPTER  XXVlx. 

SUCH  THINGS  WERE. 

When  the  count  appeared  the  succeeding  day  in  Harley 
Street,  Miss  Beaufort  introduced  him  to  Miss  Dorothy  Somer- 
set as  the  gentleman  who  had  so  gallantly  preserved  the  lives 
of  the  children  at  the  hazard  of  his  own. 

Notwithstanding  the  lofty  tossings  of  Miss  Dundas’s  head, 
the  good  old  maid  paid  him  several  encomiums  on  his  intre- 
pidity ; and  telling  him  that  the  sufferers  were  the  wife  and 
family  of  a poor  tradesman,  who  was  then  absent  in  the  coun- 
try, she  added,  ‘‘  But  we  saw  them  comfortably  lodged  before 
we  left  them  ; and  all  the  time  we  stayed,  I could  not  help  con- 
gratulating myself  on  the  easy  compliance  of  Mary  with  my 
whims.  I dislike  sleeping  at  an  inn ; and  to  prevent  it  then, 
I had  prevailed  on  Miss  Beaufort  to  pursue  our  road  to  town 
even  through  the  night.  It  was  lucky  it  happened  so,  for  I am 
certain  Mary  will  not  allow  these  poor  creatures  a long  lament 
over  the  wreck  of  their  little  property.” 

“ How  charmingly  charitable,  my  lovely  friend ! ” cried 
Euphemia ; ‘‘  let  us  make  a collection  for  this  unfortunate 
woman  and  her  babes.  Pray,  as  a small  tribute,  take  that 
from  me  ! ” She  put  five  guineas  into  the  hand  of  the  glowing 
Mary. 

The  ineffable  grace  with  which  the  confused  Miss  Beaufort 
laid  the  money  on  her  aunt’s  knee  did  not  escape  the  observa- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


227 

tion  of  Thaddeus ; neither  did  the  unintended  approbation  of 
his  eye  pass  unnoticed  by  its  amiable  object. 

When  Lady  Tinemouth  was  informed  that  evening  by  the 
count  of  the  addition  to  the  Harley  Street  party,  she  was  de- 
lighted at  the  news,  saying  she  had  been  well  acquainted  with 
Miss  Dorothy  and  her  neice  during  the  lifetime  of  Lady  Somer- 
set, and  would  take  an  early  day  to  call  upon  them.  During 
this  part  of  her  ladyship’s  discourse,  an  additional  word  or  two 
had  unfolded  to  her  auditor  the  family  connection  that  had 
subsisted  between  the  lady  she  regretted  and  his  estranged 
friend.  And  when  the  countess  paused,  Thaddeus,  struck  with 
a forgiving  pity  at  this  intelligence,  was  on  the  point  of  express- 
ing his  concern  that  Pembroke  Somerset  had  lost  so  highly- 
prized  a mother ; but  recollecting  that  Lady  Tinemouth  was 
ignorant  of  their  ever  having  known  each  other,  he  allowed  her 
to  proceed  without  a remark. 

‘‘  I never  have  been  in  company  with  Sir  Robert’s  son,” 
continued  .the  countess;  ‘Ht  was  during  his  absence  on  the 
Continent  that  I was  introduced  to  Lady  Somerset.  She  was  a 
woman  who  possessed  the  rare  talent  of  conforming  herself  to 
all  descriptions  of  people  ; and  whilst  the  complacency  of  her 
attentions  surpassed  the  most  refined  flattery,  she  commanded 
the  highest  veneration  for  herself.  Hence  you  may  imagine 
my  satisfaction  in  an  acquaintance  which  it  is  probable  would 
never  have  been  mine  had  I been  the  happy  Countess  of  Tine- 
mouth, instead  of  a deserted  wife.  Though  the  Somersets  are 
related  to  my  lord,  they  had  long  treated  him  .as  a stranger  ; 
and  doubly  disgusted  at  his  late  behavior,  they  commenced  a 
friendship  with  me,  I believe,  to  demonstrate  more  fully  their 
detestation  of  him.  Indeed,  my  husband  is  a creature  of  in- 
consistency. No  man  possessed  more  power  to  attract  friends 
than  Lord  Tinemouth,  and  no  man  had  less  power  to  retain 
them  ; as  fast  as  he  made  one  he  offended  the  other,  and  has 
at  last  deprived  himself  of  every  individual  out  of  his  own  house 
who  would  not  regard  his  death  as  a fortunate  circumstance.” 

“ But,  Lady  Somerset,”  cried  Thaddeus,  impatient  to  change 
a subject  every  word  of  which  was  a dagger  to  his  heart,  I 
mean  Miss  Dorothy  Somerset,  Miss  Beaufort ” 

“Yes,”  returned  her  ladyship;  “I  see,  kind  Mr.  Constan- 
tine, your  friendly  solicitude  to  disengage  me  from  retrospec- 
tions so  painful  ! Well,  then,  I knew  and  very  much  esteemed 
the  two  ladies  you  mention  ; but  after  the  death  of  Lady  Somer- 
set, their  almost  constant  residence  in  the  country  has  greatly 
prevented  a renewal  of  this  pleasure.  However,  as  they  are 


228 


TJJADDEUS  OF  WAFSAIV. 


now  in  town,  I will  thank  3^ou  to  acquaint  them  with  my  inten- 
tion to  call  upon  them  in  Harley  Street.  I remember  always 
thinking  Miss  Beaufort  a very  charming  girl.’’ 

Thaddeus  thought  her  more.  He  saw  that  she  was  beau- 
tiful ; he  had  witnessed  instances  of  her  goodness,  and  the  rec- 
collection  filled  his  mind  with  a complacency  the  more  tender, 
since  it  had  so  long  been  a stranger  to  his  bosom ; and  again 
he  felt  the  strange  emotion  which  had  passed  over  his  heart  at 
their  first  meeting.  But  further  observations  were  prevented 
by  the  entrance  of  Miss  Egerton  and  Lady  Sara  Ross. 

“ I am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Constantine,”  cried  the  lively 
Sophia,  shaking  hands  with  him  : you  are  the  very  person  I 
have  been  plotting  against.” 

Lady  Tinemouth  was  uneasy  at  the  care  with  which  Lady 
Sara  averted  her  face,  well  knowing  that  it  was  to  conceal  the 
powerful  agitation  of  her  features,  which  always  took  place  at 
the  sight  of  Thaddeus. 

“ What  is  your  plot.  Miss  Egerton  ? ” inquired  he  , “ I shall 
consider  myself  honored  by  your  commands,  and  do  not  require 
a conspiracy  to  entrap  my  obedience.” 

“ That’s  a good  soul  ! Then  I have  only  to  apply  to  you, 
Lady  Tinemouth.  Your  ladyship  must  know,”  cried  she, 
‘‘  that  as  Lady  Sara  and  I were  a moment  ago  driving  up  the 
Haymarket,  I nodded  to  Mr.  Coleman,  who  was  coming  out  of 
the  playhouse.  He  stopped,  I pulled  the  check-string,  and  we 
had  a great  deal  of  confab  out  of  the  window.  He  tells  me  a 
new  farce  is  to  come  out  this  day  week,  and  he  hoped  I would 
be  there!  ^ No,’  said  I,  ‘I  cannot,  for  I am  on  a visit  with 
that  precise  body,  the  Countess  of  Tinemouth,  who  would  not, 
to  save  -you  and  all  your  generation,  come  into  such  a mob.’ 
‘ Her  ladyship  shall  have  my  box,’  cried  he  ; ^ for  I would  not 
for  the  world  lose  the  honor  of  your  opinion  on  the  merits  of 
my  farce.’  ‘ To  be  sure  not  1 ’ cries  I ; so  I accepted  his  box, 
and  drove  off,  devising  with  Lady  Sara  how  to  get  your  lady- 
ship as  our  chaperon  and  Mr.  Constantine  to  be  our  beau. 
He  has  just  promised  ; so  dear  Lady  Tinemouth,  don’t  be  in- 
flexible 1 ” 

Thaddeus  was  confounded  at  the  dilemma  into  which  his 
ready  acquiescence  had  involved  his  prudence.  The  countess 
shook  her  head. 

Now  I declare.  Lady  Tinemouth,”  exclaimed  Miss  Egerton, 
this  is  an  absolute  stingy  fit  1 You  are  afraid  of  your  purse  I 
You  know  this  private  box  precludes  all  awkward  meetings, 
and  you  can  have  no  excuse.” 


THADDEUS  OF  JVARSAJV. 


229 


“ But  it  cannot  preclude  all  awkward  sights/’  answered  her 
ladyship.  ‘‘  You  know,  Sophia,  I never  go  into  public,  for  fear 
of  being  met  by  the  angry  looks  of  my  lord  or  my  son.” 

Disagreeable  people  ! ” cried  Miss  Egerton,  pettishly ; 
“ I wish  some  friendly  whirlwind  would  take  your  lord  and  son 
out  of  the  world  together.” 

“ Sophia  ! ” retorted  her  ladyship,  with  a grave  air. 

“ Rebuke  me,  Lady  Tinemouth,  if  you  like  ; I confess  I am 
no  Serena,  and  these  trials  of  temper  don’t  agree  with  my  con- 
stitution. There,”  cried  she,  throwing  a silver  medal  on  the 
table,  and  laughing  in  spite  of  herself  : “ there  is  our  p.assport ; 
but  I will  send  it  back,  and  so  break  poor  Coleman’s  heart.” 

Fie  ! Sophia,”  answered  her  ladyship,  patting  her  half- 
angry  cheeks ; ‘‘  would  you  owe  to  your  petulance  what  was 
denied  to  your  good  humor  ? ” 

‘‘Then  your  ladyship  will  go  ! ” exclaimed  she,  exultingly. 
“You  have  yielded  ; these  sullens  were  a part  of  my  stratagem, 
and  I won’t  let  you  secede.” 

Lady  Tinemouth  thought  this  would  be  a fair  opportunity 
to  show  one  of  the  theatres  to  her  young  friend,  without  invol- 
ving him  in  expense  or  obligation,  and  accordingly  she  gave 
her  consent. 

“ Do  you  intend  to  favor  us  with  your  company,  Lady  Sara  ? ” 
asked  the ‘countess,  with  a hope  that  she  might  refuse. 

Lady  Sara,  who  had  been  standing  silently  at  the  vundow, 
rather  proudly  answered — 

“ Yes,  madam,  if  you  will  honor  me  with  your  protection.” 

Lady  Tinemouth  was  the  only  one  present  who  understood 
the  resentment  which  these  words  conveyed ; and,  almost  be- 
lieving that  she  had  gone  too  far,  by  implying  suspicion,  she 
approached  her  with  a pleading  anxiety  of  countenance.  “ Then, 
Lady  Sara,  perhaps  you  will  dine  with  me  ? I mean  to  call  on 
Miss  Dorothy  Somerset,  and  would  invite  her  to  be  of  the 
party.” 

Lady  Sara  curtseyed  her  acceptance  of  the  invitation,  and, 
smiling,  appeared  to  think  no  more  of  the  matter.  But  she 
neither  forgot  it  nor  found  herself  able  to  forgive  Lady  Tine- 
mouth for  having  betrayed  her  into  a confidence  which  her  own 
turbulent  passions  had  made  but  too  easy.  She  had  listened 
unwillingly  to  the  reasonable  declaration  of  the  countess,  that 
her  only  way  to  retreat  from  an  error  which  threatened  crim- 
inality was  to  avoid  the  object. 

“ When  a married  woman,”  observed  her  ladyship,  in  that 
confidential  conference,  “ is  so  unhappy  as  to  love  any  man  be- 


230 


TJIADDEUS  OF  IVARSAW, 


sides  her  husband,  her  only  safety  rests  in  the  resolution  to 
quit  his  society,  and  to  banish  his  image  whenever  it  obtrudes.” 

Lady  Sara  believed  herself  incapable  of  this  exertion,  and 
hated  the  woman  who  thought  it  necessary.  By  letter  and 
conversation  Lady  Tinemouth  tried  to  display  in  every  possible 
light  the  enormity  of  giving  encouragement  to  such  an  attach- 
ment, and  ended  with  the  unanswerable  climax — the  considera- 
tion of  her  duty  to  Heaven. 

Of  this  argument  Lady  Sara  knew  little.  She  never  reflected 
on  the  true  nature  of  religion,  though  she  sometimes  went  to 
church,  repeated  the  prayers,  without  being  conscious  of  their 
spirit ; and  when  the  coughing,  sneezing,  and  blowing  of  noses 
which  commonly  accompany  the  text  subsided,  she  generally 
called  up  the  remembrance  of  the  last  ball,  or  an  anticipation 
of  the  next  assembly,  to  amuse  herself  until  the  prosing  busi- 
ness was  over.  From  church  she  drove  to  the  Park,  where, 
bowling  round  the  ring,  or  sauntering  in  the  gardens,  she  soon 
forgot  that  there  existed  in  the  universe  a Power  of  higher  con- 
sequence to  please  than  her  own  vanity — and  the  admiration 
of  the  spectators. 

Lady  Sara  would  have  shuddered  at  hearing  any  one  declare 
himself  a deist,  much  more  an  atheist  • but  for  any  influence 
which  her  nominal  belief  held  over  her  desires,  she  might  as 
well  have  been  either.  She  never  committed  an  action  deserv- 
ing the  name  of  premeditated  injury,  nor  went  far  out  of  her 
way  to  do  her  best  friend  a service, — not  because  she  wanted 
inclination,  but  she  ceased  to  remember  both  the  petitioner  and 
his  petition  before  he  had  been  five  minutes  from  her  sight. 
She  had  read  as  much  as  most  fine  ladies  have  read  : a few 
histories,  a few  volumes  of  essays,  a few  novels,  and  now  and 
then  a little  poetry  comprised  the  whole  range  of  her  studies  ; 
these,  with  morning  calls  and  evening  assemblies,  occupied  her 
whole  day.  Such  had  been  the  routine  of  her  life  until  she  met 
the  once  ‘‘young  star”  of  Poland,  Thaddeus  Sobieski,  in  an 
unknown  exile,  an  almost  nameless  guest,  at  Lady  Tinemouth’s, 
which  event  caused  a total  revolution  in  her  mind  and  conduct. 

The  strength  of  Lady  Sara’s  understanding  might  have 
credited  a better  education  ; but  her  passions  bearing  an  equal 
power  with  this  mental  vigor,  and  having  taken  a wrong  direc- 
tion, she  neither  -acknowledged  the  will  nor  the  capability  to 
give  the  empire  to  her  reason.  When  love  really  entered  her . 
heart,  its  first  conquest  was  over  her  universal  vanity ; she  sur- 
rendered all  her  admirers,  in  the  hope  of  securing  the  admira- 
tion of  Thaddeus ; its  second  victory  mastered  her  discretion  ; 


7:iADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


231 


she  revealed  her  unhappy  affection  to  Lady  Tinemouth,  and 
more  than  hinted  it  to  himself.  What  had  she  else  to  lose  ? 
She  believed  her  honor  to  be  safer  than  her  life.  Her  ho7io7‘ 
was  the  term.  She  had  no  conception,  or,  at  best,  a faint  one, 
that  a breach  of  the  marriage  vow  could  be  an  outrage  on  the 
laws  of  Heaven.  The  word  sin  had  been  gradually  ignored  by 
the  oligarchy  of  fashion,  from  the  hour  in  which  Charles  the 
Second  and  his  profligate  court  trod  down  piety  with  hypoc- 
risy ; and  in  this  day  the  new  philosophy  has  accomplished 
its  total  outlawry,  denouncing  it  as  a rebel  to  decency  and  the 
freedom  of  man. 

Thus,  the  Christian  religion  being  driven  from  the  haunts 
of  the  great,  pagan  morality  is  raised  from  that  prostration 
where,  Dagon-like,  it  fell  at  the  feet  of  the  Scriptures,  and  is 
again  erected  as  the  idol  of  adoration.  Guilt  against  Heaven 
fades  before  the  decrees  of  man  ; his  law  of  ethics  reprobates 
crime.  But  crime  is  only  a temporal  transgression,  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  general  good  ; it  draws  no  consequent  punishment 
heavier  than  the  judgment  of  a broken  human  law,  or  the  re- 
sentment of  the  offended  private  parties.  Morality  neither 
promises  rewards  after  death  nor  denounces  future  chastise- 
ment for  error.  The  disciples  of  this  independent  doctrine 
hold  forth  instances  of  the  perfectibility  of  human  actions,  pro- 
duced by  the  unassisted  decisions  of  human  intellect  on  the 
limits  of  right  and  wrong.  They  admire  virtue,  because  it  is 
beautiful.  They  practice  it,  because  it  is  heroic.  They  do  not 
abstain  from  the  gratification  of  an  intemperate  wish  under  the 
belief  that  it  is  sinful,  but  in  obedience  to  their  reason,  which 
rejects  the  commission  of  a vicious  act  because  it  is  uncomely. 
In  the  first  case,  God  is  their  judge  ; in  the  latter,  themselves. 
The  comparison  need  only  be  proposed,  to  humble  the  pride 
that  made  it  necessary.  How  do  these  systematizers  refine 
and  subtilize  ? How  do  they  dwell  on  the  principle  of  virtue, 
and  turn  it  in  every  metaphysical  light,  until  their  philosophy 
rarities  it  to  nothing  1 Some  degrade,  and  others  abandon,  the 
only  basis  on  which  an  upright  character  can  stand  with  firm- 
ness. The  bulwark  which  Revelation  erected  between  the 
, passions  and  the  soul  is  levelled  first;  and  then  that  instinctive 
rule  of  right  which  the  modern  casuist  denominates  the  citadel 
of  virtue  falls  of  course. 

By  such  gradations  the  progress  of  depravity  is  accom- 
plished ; and  the  general  leaven  having  worked  to  Lady  Sara’s 
mind  on  such  premises,  (though  she  might  not  arrange  them 
so  distinctly,)  she  deduced  that  what  is  called  conjugal  right  is 
a mere  establishment  of  man,  and  might  be  extended  or  limited 


232 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARS  A IV, 


by  him  to  any  length  he  pleased.  For  instance,  the  Turks 
were  not  content  with  one  wife,  but  appropriated  hundreds  to 
one  man  ; and  because  such  indulgence  was  permitted  by 
Mohammed,  no  other  nation  presumed  to  call  them  culpable. 

Hence  she  thought  that  if  she  could  once  reconcile  herself 
to  believe  that  her  ovv^n  happiness  was  dearer  to  her  than  the 
notice  of  half  a thousand  people  to  whom  she  was  indiffereiv.  ; 
that  only  in  their  opinion  and  the  world’s  her  flying  to  the  pro- 
tection of  Thaddeus  would  be  crime ; — could  she  confidently 
think  this,  what  should  deter  her  from  instantly  throwing  her- 
self into  the  arms  of  the  man  she  loved  ? 

“Ah  I ” cried  the  thus  self-deluded  Lady  Sara,  one  night, 
as  she  traversed  her  chamber  in  a paroxysm  of  tears  ; “what 
are  the  vows  I have  sworn  ? How  can  I keep  them  ? I have 
sworn  to  love,  to  honor  Captain  Ross  ; but  in  spite  of  myself, 
without  any  action  of  my  own,  I have  broken  both  these  oaths. 
I cannot  love  him  ; I hate  him  ; and  I cannot  honor  the  man 
I hate.  What  have  I else  to  break  ? Nothing.  Ny  nuptial 
vow  is  as  completely  annihilated  as  if  I had  left  him  never  to 
return.  How  ? ” cried  she,  after  a pause  of  some  minutes, 
“ how  shall  I know  what  passes  in  the  mind  of  Constantine 
Did  he  love  me,  would  he  protect  me,  I would  brave  the  whole 
universe.  Oh,  I should  be  the  happiest  of  the  happy  ! ” 

Fatal  conclusion  of  reflection  ! It  infected  her  dreaming 
and  her  waking  fancy.  She  regarded  everything  as  an  enemy 
that  opposed  her  passion  ; and  as  the  first  of  these  enemies, 
she  detested  Lady  Tinemouth.  The  countess’s  last  admonish- 
ing letter  enraged  her  by  its  arguments ; and,  throwing  it  into 
the  fire  with  execrations  and  tears,  she  determined  to  pursue 
her  own  will,  but  to  affect  being  influenced  by  her  ladyship’s 
counsels. 

The  Count  Sobieski,  who  surmised  not  the  hundredth  part 
of  the  infatuation  of  Lady  Sara,  began  to  hope  that  her  ardent 
manner  had  misled  him,  or  that  she  had  seen  the  danger  of 
such  imprudence. 

Under  these  impressions,  the  party  for  the  theatre  was 
settled  ; and  Thaddeus,  after  sitting  an  hour  in  Grosvenor 
Place,  returned  to  his  humble  home,  and  attendance  on  his 
venerated  friend. 

* Such  were  the  moral  tactics  for  human  conduct  at  the  commencement  of  this  century. 
But,  thanks  to  the  patience  of  God,  he  has  given  a better  spirit  to  the  present  age,— to  his 
I 'lilosophy  an  admirable  development  of  the  wisdom  and  beneficence  of  his  works,  instead 
of  the  former  metaphysical  vanities  and  contradictory  bewilderments  of  opinions  concerning 
the  divine  nature  and  the  elements  of  man,  which,  as  far  as  a demon-spirit  could  go,  had 
plunged  the  created  world,  both  physically  and  morally,  into  the  darkness  of  chaos  again. 
The  Holy  Scriptures  Are  now  the  foundation  studies  of  our  country,  and  her  ark  U safe.— 
i845« 


THABDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


233 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

MARY  BEAUFORT  AND  HER  VENERABLE  AUNT. 

The  addition  of  Miss  Dorothy  Somerset  and  Miss  Beaufort 
to  the  morning  group  at  Lady  Dundas’s  imparted  a less  reluc- 
tant motion  to  the  before  tardy  feet  of  the  count,  whenever  he 
turned  them  towards  Harley  Street. 

Miss  Dorothy  readily  supposed  him  to  have  been  better 
born  than  he  appeared  ; and  displeased  with  the  treatment  he 
had  received  from  Miss  Dundas  and  her  guests,  behaved  to 
him  herself  with  the  most  gratifying  politeness. 

Aunt  Dorothy  (for  that  was  the  title  by  which  every  branch 
of  the  baronet’s  family  addressed  her)  was  full  twenty  years 
the  senior  of  her  brother.  Sir  Robert  Somerset.  Having  in  her 
youth  been  thought  very  like  the  famous  and  lovely  Mrs.  Wof- 
fington, she  had  been  considered  the  beauty  of  her  time,  and, 
as  such,  for  ten  years  continued  the  reigning  belle.  Never- 
theless, she  arrived  at  the  age,  of  seventy-two  without  having 
been  either  the  object  or  the  subject  of  a fervent  passion. 

Possessing  a fine  understanding,  a refined  taste,  and  fine 
feelings,  by  some  chance  she  had  escaped  love.  It  cannot  be 
denied  that  she  was  much  admired,  much  respected,  and  much 
esteemed,  and  that  she  received  tv/o  or  three  splendid  proposals 
from  men  of  rank.  Some  of  those  men  she  admired,  some  she 
respected,  and  some  she  esteemed,  but  not  one  did  she  love, 
and  she  successively  refused  them  all.  Shortly  after  their  dis- 
charge, they  generally  consoled  themselves  by  marrying  other 
women,  who,  perhaps,  wanted  both  the  charms  and  the  sense 
! of  Miss  Somerset ; yet  she  congratulated  them  on  their  choice, 
i and  usually  became  the  warm  friend  of  the  happy  couple. 

I Thus  year  passed  over  year ; Miss  Somerset  continued  the 
esteemed  of  every  worthy  heart,  though  she  could  not  then 
. kindle  the  embers  of  a livelier  glow  in  any  one  of  them  ; and  at 
I the  epoch  called  a certain  age^  she  found  herself  an  old  maid, 
but  possessing  so  much  good  humor  and  affection  towards  the 
' young  people  about  her,  she  did  not  need  any  of  her  own  to 
mingle  in  the  circle. 

This  amiable  old  lady  usually  took  her  knitting  into  the 
library  before  the  fair  students ; and  whenever  Thaddeus  en- 
tered the  room,  (so  natural  is  it  for  generous  natures  to  sym- 


234 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


pathize,)  his  eyes  first  sought  her  venerable  figure;  then  glan- 
cing around  to  catch  an  assuring  beam  from  the  lovely  coun- 
tenance of  her  niece,  he  seated  himself  with  confidence. 

The  presence  of  these  ladies  operated  as  a more  than  suf- 
ficient antidote  to  the  disagreeableness  of  his  situation.  To 
them  he  directed  all  the  attention  that  was  not  required  by  his 
occupation ; he  heard  them  only  speak  when  a hundred  others 
were  talking  ; he  saw  them  only  when  a hundred  others  were  in 
company. 

In  addition  to  this  pleasant  change,  Miss  Euphemia’s  pas- 
sion assumed  a less  tormenting  form.  She  had  been  reading 
Madame  d’Arblay’s  Camilla ; and  becoming  enamored  of  the 
delicacy  and  pensive  silence  of  the  interesting  heroine,  she  de- 
termined on  adopting  the  same  character ; and  at  the  same  time 
taking  it  into  her  ever-creative  brain  that  Constantine’s  coldness 
bore  a striking  affinity  to  the  caution  of  Edgar  Mandelbert, 
she  wiped  the  rouge  from  her  pretty  face,  and  prepared  to  “ let 
concealment,  like  a worm  in  the  bud,  feed  on  her  damask 
cheek.” 

To  afford  decorous  support  to  this  fancy,  her  gayest  clothes 
were  thrown  aside,  to  make  way  for  a negligence  of  apparel 
which  cost  her  two  hours  each  morning  to  compose.  Her  dimp- 
ling smiles  were  now  quite  banished.  She  was  ever  sighing, 
and  ever  silent,  and  ever  lolling  and  leaning  about  ; reclining 
along  sofas,  or  in  some  disconsolate  attitude,  grouping  herself 
with  one  of  the  marble  urns,  and  sitting  ‘‘  like  Patience  on  a 
monument  smiling  at  grief.” 

Thaddeus  preferred  this  pathetic  whim  to  her  former  Sap- 
phic follies  ; it  afforded  him  quiet,  and  relieved  him  from  much 
embarrassment. 

Every  succeeding  visit  induced  Miss  Beaufort  to  observe 
him  with  a more  lively  interest.  The  nobleness  yet  humility 
with  which  he  behaved  towards  herself  and  her  aunt,  and  the 
manly  serenity  with  which  he  suffered  the  insulting  sarcasms  of 
Miss  Dundas,  led  her  not  merely  to  conceive  but  to  entertain 
many  doubts  that  his  present  situation  was  that  of  his  birth. 

The  lady  visitors  who  dropped  in  on  the  sisters’  studies  were 
not  backward  in  espousing  the  game  of  ridicule,  as  it  played 
away  a few  minutes,  to  join  in  a laugh  with  the  “ witty  Diana.” 
These  gracious  beings  thought  their  sex  gave  them  privilege  to 
offend  ; but  it  was  not  always  that  the  gentlemen  durst  venture 
beyond  a shrug  of  the  shoulder,  a drop  of  the  lip,  a wink  of  the 
eye,  or  a raising  of  the  brows.  Mary  observed  with  contempt 
that  they  were  prudent  enough  not  to  exercise  even  these 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W, 


235 


►ecimens  of  a mean  hostility  except  when  its  noble  object  had 
rned  his  back,  and  regarding  him  with  increased  admiration, 
:e  was  indignant,  and  then  disdainful,  at  the  envy  which  actu- 
ed  these  men  to  treat  with  affected  scorn  him  whom  they 
cretly  feared. 

The  occasional  calls  of  Lady  Tinemouth  and  Miss  Egerton 
imulated  the  cabal  against  Thaddeus.  The  sincere  sentiment 
equality  with  themselves  which  these  two  ladies  evinced  by 
eir  behavior  to  him,  and  the  same  conduct  being  adopted  by 
iss  Dorothy  and  her  beautiful  niece,  besides  the  evident  par- 
ility  of  Euphemia,  altogether  inflamed  the  spleen  of  Miss 
undas,  and  excited  her  coterie  to  acts  of  the  most  extravagant 
deness. 

The  little  phalanx,  at  the  head  of  which  was  the  superb 
iana,  could  offer  no  real  reason  for  disliking  a man  who  was 
)t  only  their  inferior,  but  who  had  never  offended  them  even 
implication.  It  was  a sufficient  apology  to  their  easy  con- 
iences  that  “ he  gave  himself  such  courtly  airs  as  were  quite 
iiculous — that  his  presumption  was  astonishing.  In  short, 
ey  were  all  idle,  and  it  was  exceedingly  amusing  to  lounge  a 
orning  with  the  rich  Dundases  and  hoax  Monsieur.’’ 

Had  Thaddeus  known  one  fourth  of  the  insolent  derision 
th  which  his  misfortunes  were  treated  behind  his  back,  per- 
ips  even  his  friend’s  necessity  could  not  have  detained  him  in 
s employment  The  brightness  of  a brave  man’s  name  makes 
ladows  perceptible  which  might  pass  unmarked  over  a duller 
irface.  Sobieski’s  delicate  honor  would  have  supposed  itself 
Hied  by  enduring  such  contumely  with  toleration.  But,  as 
is  said  before,  the  male  adjuncts  of  Miss  Dundas  had  receiyed 
• opportune  a warning  from  an  accidental  knitting  of  the 
•unt’s  brow,  they  never  after  could  muster  temerity  to  sport 
eir  wit  to  his  face. 

These  circumstances  were  not  lost  upon  Mary  ; she  collected 
em  as  part  of  a treasure,  and  turned  them  over  on  her  pillow 
' th  the  jealous  examination  of  a miser.  Like  Euphemia,  she 
pposed  Thaddeus  to  be  other  than  he  seemed.  Yet  her 
Hey  did  not  suppose  him  gifted  with  the  blood  of  the  Bour- 
)ns  ; she  merely  believed  him  to  be  a gentleman  ; and  from 
e maternal  manner  of  Lady  Tinemouth  towards  him,  she  sus- 
^;cted  that  her  ladyship  knew  more  of  his  history  than  she 
ose  to  reveal. 

Things  were  in  thi^  state,  when  the  countess  requested  that 
iss  Dorothy  would  allow  her  niece  to  make  one  in  her  party 
the  Haymarket  Theatre.  The  good  lady  having  consented, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


236 

Miss  Beaufort  received  the  permission  with  pleasure  ; and  as 
she  was  to  sup  in  Grosvenor  Place,  she  ventured  to  hope  that 
something  might  fall  from  her  hostess  or  Miss  Egerton  whicli 
would  throw  a light  on  the  true  situation  of  Mr.  Constantine. 

From  infancy  Miss  Beaufort  had  loved  with  enthusiasm  al 
kinds  of  excellence.  Indeed,  she  esteemed  no  person  warmlj 
whom  she  did  no  think  exalted  by  their  virtues  above  the  com: 
mon  race  of  mankind.  She  sought  for  something  to  respect  ir 
every  character  ; and  when  she  found  anything  to  greatly  ad 
mire,  her  ardent  soul  blazed,  and  by  its  own  pure  flame  lit  hei 
to  a closer  inspection  of  the  object  about  whom  she  had  becomt 
more  than  usually  interested. 

In  former  years  Lady  Somerset  collected  all  the  virtue  anc 
talent  in  the  country  around  her  table,  and  it  was  now  founc 
that  they  were  not  brought  there  on  a vain  errand.  From  their 
Miss  Beaufort  gathered  her  best  lessons  in  conduct  and  taste 
and  from  them  her  earliest  perceptions  of  friendship.  Mar’ 
was  the  beloved  pupil  and  respected  friend  of  the  brightesi 
characters  in  England ; and  though  some  of  them  were  men  whc 
had  not  passed  the  age  of  forty,  she  never  had  been  in  love,  nol 
had  she  mistaken  the  nature  of  her  esteem  so  far  as  to  call  i 
by  that  name.  Hence  she  was  neither  afraid  nor  ashamed  t< 
acknowledge  a correspondence  she  knew  to  be  her  highest  dis 
tinction.  But  had  the  frank  and  innocent  Mary  exhibited  hal 
the  like  attentions  which  she  paid  to  these  men  in  one  hour  ti| 
the  common  class  of  young  men  through  the  course  of  a month 
they  would  have  declared  that  the  poor  girl  was  over  head  am 
ears  in  love  with  them,  and  have  pitied  what  they  would  havl 
justly  denominated  her  folly.  Foolish  must  that  woman  be  wlr 
would  sacrifice  the  most  precious  gift  in  her  possession — hej 
heart — to  the  superficial  graces  or  empty  blandishments  of 
self-idolized  coxcomb ! 

Such  a being  was  not  Mary  Beaufort ; and  on  these  prir; 
ciples  she  contemplated  the  extraordinary  fine  qualities  she  sa’ 
in  the  exiled  Thaddeus  with  an  interest  honorable  to  her  pent 
tration  and  her  heart.  ^ 

When  Miss  Egerton  called  with  Lady  Sara  Ross  to  taltj 
Miss  Beaufort  to  the  Haymarket,  Mary  was  not  displeased  tj 
seeing  Mr.  Constantine  step  out  of  the  carriage  to  hand  he 
in.  During  their  drive.  Miss  Egerton  informed  her  that  Lad, 
Tinemouth  had  been  suddenly  seized  with  a headache,  bu 
that  Lady  Sara  had  kindly  undertaken  to  be  their  chaperot 
and  had  promised  to  return  with  them  to  sup  in  Grosvenc 
Place. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


237 


Lady  Sara  had  never  seen  Mary,  though  she  had  frequently 
jiard  of  her  beauty  and  vast  fortune.  This  last  qualification 
*:r  ladyship  hoped  might  have  given  an  unmerited  eclat  to  the 
St ; therefore  when  she  saw  in  Miss  Beaufort  the  most  beauti- 
1 creature  she  had  ever  beheld,  nothing  could  equal  her  sur- 
lise  and  vexation. 

The  happy  lustre  that  beamed  in  the  fine  eyes  of  Mary 
one  like  a vivifying  influence  around  her  ; a bright  glow  ani- 
‘ated  her  cheek,  whilst  a pleasure  for  which  she  did  not  seek 
^ account  bounded  at  her  heart,  and  modulated  every  tone  of 
)Y  voice  to  sweetness  and  enchantment. 

‘‘  Syren  ! ” thought  Lady  Sara,  withdrawing  her  large  dark 
'es  from  her  face,  and  turning  them  full  of  dissolving  languor 
)on  Thaddeus  ; ‘‘here  are  all  thy  charms  directed!^’  then 
•awing  a sigh,  so  deep  that  it  made^  her  neighbor  start,  she 
iced  her  eyes  on  her  fan,  and  never  looked  up  again  until  they 
id  reached  the  playhouse. 

The  curtain  was  raised  as  the  little  party  seated  themselves 
the  box. 

“ Can  anybody  tell  me  what  the  play  is  ? ’’  asked  Lady 
ara. 

“ I never  thought  of  inquiring,’’  replied  Sophia. 

“I  looked  in  the  newspaper  this  morning,”  said  Miss  Beau- 
■>rt,  “ and  I think  it  is  called  Sig/is^ — a translation  from  a 
rama  of  Kotzebue’s.” 

“ A strange  title  ! ” was  the  general  observation.  When 
[r.  Suett,  who  personated  one  of  the  characters,  began  to 
Seak,  their  attention  was  summoned  to  the  stage. 

V On  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Charles  Kemble  in  the  character 
f Adelbert,  the  count  unconsciously  turned  pale.  He  per- 
^^ived  by  the  dress  of  the  actor  that  he  was  to  personate  a 
ole  ; and  alarmed  at  the  probability  of  seeing  something  to 
qcall  recollections  which  he  had  striven  to  banish,  his  agitation 
id  not  allow  him  to  hear  anything  that  was  said  for  some 
linutes. 

Miss  Egerton  was  not  so  tardy  in  the  use  of  her  eyes  and 
;ars ; and  stretching  out  her  hand  to  the  back  of  the  box, 
^here  Thaddeus  was  standing  by  Lady  Sara’s  chair,  she  caught 
.old  of  his  sleeve. 

^ “ There,  Mr.  Constantine  ! ” cried  she ; “ look  at  Adelbert ! 

aat  is  exactly  the  figure  you  cut  in  your  outlandish  gear  two 
rnonths  ago.” 

Thaddeus  bowed  with  a forced  smile,  and  glancing  at  the 
.tage,  replied — 


238  ‘ THADDEliS  OF  WARS  A W. 

‘‘  Then,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I regret  having  followed 
a lady^s  advice  ; I think  I must  have  lost  by  the  change.’’ 

‘‘Yes,”  rejoined  she,  “you  have  lost  much  fur  and  much 
embroidery,  but  you  now  look  much  more  like  a Christian.” 

The  substance  of  these  speeches  was  not  lost  on  Mary, 
who  continued  with  redoubling  interest  to  mark  the  changes 
his  countenance  underwent  along  with  the  scene.  As  she  sat 
forward,  by  a slight  turn  of  the  head  she  could  discern  the 
smallest  fluctuation  in  his  features,  and  they  were  not  a few. 
Placing  himself  at  the  back  of  Lady  Sara’s  chair,  he  leaned 
over,  with  his  soul  set  in  his  eye,  watching  every  motion  of 
Mr.  Charles  Kemble. 

Mary  knew,  by  some  accidental  words  from  Lady  Tine- 
mouth,  that  Constantine  was  a Polander,  and  the  surmise*  she 
had  entertained  of  his  being  unfortunate  received  full  corrob- 
oration at  the  scene  in  .which  Adelbert  is  grossly  insulted  by 
the  rich  merchant.  During  the  whole  of  it,  she  scarcely  dared 
trust  her  eyes  towards  Constantine’s  flushed  and  agitated  face. 

The  interview  between  Adelbert  and  Leopold  commenced. 
When  the  former  was  describing  his  country’s  miseries  with 
his  own,  Thaddeus  unable  to  bear  it  longer,  unobserved  by 
any  but  Mary,  drew  back  into  the  box.  In  a moment  or  two 
afterwards  Mr.  Charles  Kemble  made  the  following  reply  to 
an  observation  of  Leopold’s,  that  “ poverty  is  no  dishonor.” 

“ Certainly  none  to  me ! To  Poland,  to  my  struggling 
country,  I sacrificed  my  wealth,  as  I would  have  sacrificed  my' 
life  if  she  had  required  it.  My  country  is  no  more ; and  we 
are  wanderers  on  a burdened  earth,  finding  no  refuge  but  in 
the  hearts  of  the  humane  and  virtuous.” 

The  passion  and  force  of  these  words  could  not  fail  of 
reaching  the  ears  of  Thaddeus.  Mary’s  attention  followed 
them  to  their  object,  by  the  heaving  of  whose  breast  she  plainly 
discovered  the  anguish  of  their  effect.  Her  heart  beat  with 
increased  violence.  How  willingly  would  she  have  approached 
him,  and  said  something  of  sympathy,  of  consolation  ! but  she 
durst  not ; and  she  turned  away  her  tearful  eye,  and  looked 
again  towards  the  stage. 

Lady  Sara  now  stood  up,  and  hanging  over  Mary’s  chair^ 
listened  with  congenial  emotions  to  the  scene  between  Adel- 
bert and  the  innocent  Rose.  Lady  Sara  felt  it  all  in  her  own 
bosom  ; and  looking  round  to  catch  what  was  passing  in  the 
count’s  mind,  she  beheld  him  leaning  against  the  box,  with  his 
head  inclined  to  the  curtain  of  the  door.  “ Mr.  Constantine  ! ’V 
almost  unconsciously  escaped  her  lips.  He  started,  and  dis- 


THADDEVS  OF  WARSAW. 


239 

I covered  by  the  humidity  on  his  eyelashes  why  he  had  with- 
_ drawn.  Her  ladyship’s  tears  were  gliding  down  her  cheeks. 
i Miss  Egerton,  greatly  amazed  at  the  oddness  of  this  closet 
.1  scene,  turned  to  Miss  Beaufort,  who  a moment  before  having 
; caught  a glimpse  of  the  distressed  countenance  of  the  count, 
i could  only  bow  her  head  to  Sophia’s  sportive  observation. 

Who  is  there  that,  can  enter  into  the  secret  folds  of  the 
, heart  and  know  all  its  miseries } Who  participate  in  that 
joy  which  dissolves  and  rarifies  man  to  the  essence  of  heaven  > 
i Soul  must  mingle  with  soul,  and  the  ethereal  voice  of  spirits 
1 must  speak  before  these  things  can  be  comprehended. 

Ready  to  suffocate  with  the  emotions  slie  repelled  from  her 
, eyes,  Mary  gladly  affected  to  be  absorbed  in  the  business  of 
|.  the  stage,  (not  one  object  of  which  she  now  saw),  and  with 
1-  breathless  attention  lost  not  one  soft  whisper  which  Lady  Sara 
poured  into  the  ear  of  Thaddeus. 

^ “Why,”  asked  her  ladyship,  in  a tremulous  and  low  tone, 

: why  should  we  seek  ideal  sorrows,  when  those  of  our  own 
! hearts  are  beyond  alleviation?  Happy  Rose!”  sighed  her 
ladyship.  “Mr.  Constantine,”  continued  she,  “do  not  you 
: think  that  Adelbert  is  consoled,  at  least,  by  the  affection  of 
I that  lovely  woman  ? ’’ 

r Like  Miss  Beaufort,  Constantine  had  hitherto  replied  with 
i bows  only. 

j Come/’  added  Lady  Sara,  laying  her  soft  hand  on  his 
I arm,  and  regarding  him  with  a look  of  tenderness,  so  unequivo- 
1 ca  that  he  cast^  his  eyes  to  the  ground,  while  its  sympathy 
I really  touched  his  heart.  Come,”  repeated  she,  animated  by 
1 the  faint  color  which  tinged  his  cheek ; “you  know  that  I have 
I tie  care  of  this  party,  and  I must  not  allow  our  only  cavalier 
tto  be  melancholy.” 

I “ I beg  your  pardon.  Lady  Sara,”  returned  he,  gratefully 
pressing  the  hand  that  yet  rested  on  his  arm  j “ I am  not  very 
! well.  I wish  that  I had  not  seen  this  play.” 

Lady  Sara  sunk  into  the  seat  from  which  she  had  risen. 
He  had  never  before  taken  her  hand,  except  when  assisting 
her  to  her  carriage  j this  pressure  shook  her  very  soul,  and 
awakened  hopes  which  rendered  her  for  a moment  incapable 
-Dt  sustaining  herself  or  venturing  a reply. 

There  was  something  in  the  tones  of  Lady  Sara’s  voice 
!‘ina  in  her  man-  .cr  far  more  expressive  than  her  words  : mutual 
ri  J breathed  from  her  ladyship’s  bosom  and  that  of 

laddeus,  as  they  sat  down,  made  a cold  shiver  run  from  the 
!;  lead  to  the  foot  of  Miss  Beaufort.  Mary’s  surprise  at  the 


240 


■THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


meaning  of  this  emotion  caused  a second  tremor,  and  with  a 
palpitating  heart  she  asked  herself  a few  questions. 

Could  this  interesting  young  man,  whoni  every  person  of 
sense  appeared  to  esteem  and  respect,  sully  his  virtues  by  par- 
ticipating in  a passion  with  a married  woman  ? No ; it  was 

impossible.  . , • 1 

Notwithstanding  this  decision,  so  absolute  m his  exculpa- 
tion, her  pure  heart  felt  a trembling,  secret  resolve,  “even  for 
the  sake  of  the  honor  of  human  nature,”  (she  whispered  to 
herself),  to  observe  him  so  hereafter  as  to  be  convinced  of  the 
real  worth  of  his  principles  before  she  would  allow  any  increase 
of  the  interest  his  apparently  reversed  fate  had  created  in  her 


compassionate  bosom.  1 r . > 

What  mi-^ht  be  altogether  the  extent  of  that  “reversed  fate, 
she  could  fom  no  idea.  For  though  she  had  heard,  m com- 
mon with  the  rest  of  the  general  society,  of  the  recent  melan- 
choly fate  of  Poland  ! ” she  knew  little  of  its  particulars  poll- 
lies  of  every  kind,  and  especially  about  foreign  places,  being 
an  interdicted  subject  in  the  drawing-rooms  of  Sir  Robert 
Somerset,  Therefore  the  simplv  noble  mind  of  Mary  thougnt 
more  of  the  real  nobility  that  might  dwell  in  the  soul  of  this 
expatriated  son  of  that  country  than  of  the  possible  appendages 
of  rank  he  might  have  left  there. 

With  her  mind  full  of  these  reflections,  she  awaited  the  farct 
without  observing  it  when  it  appeared.  Indeed  none  ot  the 
party  knew  anything  about  the  piece  (to  see  which  they  hac 
professedly  come  to  the  theatre)  excepting  Miss  EgertOT,  whost 
ever  merry  spirits  had  enjoyed  alone  the  humor  of  Totum  11 
the  play,  and  who  now  laughed  heartily,  though  unaccompanied 
through  the  ridiculous  whims  of  the  farce.  _ 

Nothing  that  passed  could  totally  disengage  the  mind  o 
Thaddeus  from  those  remembrances  which  the  recent^  dram 
had  aroused.  When  the  melting  voice  of  Lady  Sara  in  win 
pers,  tried  to  recall  his  attention,  by  a start-only  did  he  evinc 
his  recollection  of  not  being  alone.  Sensible,  however  to  th 
kindness  of  her  motive,  he  exerted  himself ; and  by  the  ti_m 
the  curtain  dropped,  he  had  so  far  rallied  his  presence  o min 
as  to  be  able  to  attend  to  the  civility  of  seeing  the  ladies  sail 
out  of  the  theatre. 

Miss  Egerton,  laughing,  as  he  assisted  her  into  the  carriag 
said  “ I verily  believe,  Mr.  Constantine,  had  I glanced  roui| 
during  the  pl^',  I should  have  seen  as  pretty  a lachrymal  see. 
between  you  and  Lady  Sara  as  any  on  the  stage.  I won  t c 
this  flirting ! ■ I declare  I will  tell  Captain  Ross 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


£4^ 

She  continued  talking  ; but  turning  about  to  offer  his  ser- 
dce  to  Miss  Beaufort,  he  heard  no  more. 

Miss  Beaufort,  however  self-composed  in  thought,  felt 
jtrangely : she  felt  cold  and  reserved;  and  undesignedly  she 
ippeared  what  she  felt.  There  was  a grave  dignity  in  her  air, 
iccompanied  with  a collectedness  and  stillness  in  her  before 
animated  countenance,  which  astonished  and  chilled  Thaddeus, 
hough  she  had  bowed  her  head  and  pven  him  her  hand  to  put 
ler  into  the  coach. 

On  their  way  home  Miss  Egerton  ran  over  the  merits  of  the 
olay  and  farce ; rallied  Thaddeus  on  the  “ tall  Pole,”  which  she 
.hreatened  should  be  his  epithet  whenever  he  offended  her  ; 
md  then,  flying  from  subject  to  subject,  talked  herself  and  her 
learers  so  weary,  that  they  internally  rejoiced  when  the  carriage 
stopped  in  Grosvenor  Place. 

After  they  had  severally  paid  their  respects  to  Lady  Tine- 
nouth,  who,  being  indisposed,  was  lying  on  the  sofa,  she  de- 
flred  Thaddeus  to  draw  a chair  near  her. 

I want  to  learn,”  said  she,  “ what  you  think  of  our  Eng- 
ish  theatre  ? ” 

} ‘‘  Prithee,  don’t  ask  him  ! ” cried  Miss  Egerton,  pouring  out 

1 glass  of  water  ; ‘‘we  have  seen  a tremendous  brother  Pole  of 
lis,  who  I believe  has  ‘ hopped  off  ’ with  all  his  spirits  ! Why, 
le  has  been  looking  as  rueful  as  a half-drowned  man  all  the 
light ; and  as  for  Lady  Sara,  and  I could  vow  Miss  Beaufort, 
;oo,  they  have  been  two  Niobes — ‘ all  tears.’  So,  good  folks, 
[ must  drink  better  health  to  you,  to  save  myself  from  the 
/apors.” 

“ What  is  all  this,  Mr.  Constantine  ? ” asked  the  countess, 
iddressing  Thaddeus,  whose  eyes  had  glanced  with  a ray  of 
ielighted  surprise  on  the  blushing  though  displeased  face  of 
Miss  Beaufort. 

“ My  weakness,”  replied  he,  commanding  down  a rising 
Temor  in  his  voice,  and  turning  to  her  ladyship ; “the  play  re- 
ates  to  a native  of  Poland,  one  who,  like  myself,  an  exile  in  a 
strange  land,  is  subjected  to  sufferings  and  contumelies  the 
iravest  spirits  i.  ay  find  hard  to  bear.  Any  man  may  combat 
nisery;  but  even  the  most  intrepid  will  shrink  from  insult. 
Phis,  I believe,  is  the  sum  of  the  story.  Its  resemblance  in 
some  points  to  my  own  affected  me  ; and,”  added  he,  looking 
gratefully  at  Lady  Sara,  and  timidly  towards  Miss  Ileaufort, 
if  these  ladies  have  sympathized  with  emotions  against  which 
[ strove,  but  could  not  entirely  conceal,  I owe  to  it  the  sweetest 
:onsolation  now  in  the  power  of  fate  to  bestow.” 


24'2 


THADDEUS  OE  WARSAW. 


Poor  Constantine  ! ’’  cried  Sophia  Egerton,  patting  his 
head  with  one  hand,  whilst  with  the  other  she  wiped  a tear 
from  her  always  smiling  eye,  “ forgive  me  if  I have  hurt  you. 

I like  you  vastly,  though  I must  no  .v  and  then  laugh  at^you  y 
you  know  I hate  dismals,  so  let  this  tune  enliven  us  all ! ” and 
flying  to  her  piano,  she  played  and  sang  two  or  three  merry 
airs,  till  the  countess  commanded  her  to  the  supper-table. 

At  this  most  sociable  repast  of  the  whole  day,  cheerful- 1 
ness  seemed  again  to  disperse  the  gloom  which  had  threatened 
the  circle.  Thaddeus  set  the  example.  His  unrestrained  and 
elegant  conversation  acquired  new  pathos  from  the  anguish  that 
was  driven  back  to  his  heart;  like  the  beds  of  rivers,  which 
infuse  their  own  nature  with  the  current,  his  hidden  grief  im-, 
parted  an  indescribable  interest  and  charm  to  all  his  sentiments 
and  actions."^ 

Mary  now  beheld  him  in  his  real  character.  Unmolested 
by  the  haughty  presence  of  Miss  Dundas,  he  became  unreserved, 
intelligent,  and  enchanting.  He  seemed  master  of  every  sub- 
ject talked  on,  and  discoursed  on  all  with  a grace  which  cor- 
roborated her  waking  visions  that  he  was  as  some  bright  star 

fallen  from  his  sphere.  . c i ! 

With  the  increase  of  Miss  Beaufort’s  admiration  or  the) 
count’s  fine  talents,  she  gradually  lost  the  recollection  of  what| 
had  occupied  her  mind  relative  to  Lady  Sara  ; and  her  own 
beautiful  countenance  dilating  into  confidence  and  delight,  the 
evening  passed  away  with  chastened  pleasure,  until  the  little 
party  separated  for  their  several  homes. 

Lady  Tinemouth  was  more  than  ever  fascinated  by  the  lovely 
Miss  Beaufort.  Miss  Beaufort  was  equally  p^.eased  with  the 
animation  of  the  countess  ; but  when  she  thought  on  Thaddeus^ 
she  was  surprised,  interested,  absorbed. 

Lady  Sara  Ross’s  reflections  were  not  less  delightful.  She 
dwelt  with  redoubled  passion  on  that  look  from  the  count  ? 
eyes,  that  touch  of  his  hand,  which  she  thought  were  signs  ol 
a reciprocal  awakened  flame.  Both  actions  were  forgotten  by 
him  the  moment  after  they  were  committed ; yet  he  was  not 
ungrateful ; but  whilst  he  acknowledged  her  generous  sympathy 
at  that  time,  he  could  not  but  see  that  she  was  straying  to  t^H. 
verge  of  a precipice  which  no  thoroughly  virtuous  woman  JaOuu 

ever  venture  to  approach.  

He  found  a refuge  from  so  painful  a meditation  in  tne  icie: 
of  the  ingenuous  Mary,  on  whose  modest  countenance  virtue 

* When  this  was  written,  (in  the  year  1804,)  domestic  hours  were  earlier  ; and  the  sup 
per  hour  ” had  not  then  dissipation  and  broken  rest  for  a consequence. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A IV. 


243 


>eemed  to  have  “ set  her  seal/^  Whilst  recollecting  the  pity- 
ng  kindness  of  her  voice  and  looks,  his  heart  owned  the  empire 
purity,  and  in  the  contemplation  of  her  unaffected  excellence, 
^■e  the  more  deplored  the  witcheries  of  Lady  Sara,  and  the  dan- 
|erous  uses  to  which  her  in^petuous  feelings  addressed  them. 


" CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HYDE  PARK. 

Next  morning,  when  Thaddeus  approached  the  generaPs 
; ed  to  give  him  his  coffee,  he  found  him  feverish,  and  his  mind 
. lore  than  usually  unsettled. 

The  count  awaited  with  anxiety  the  arrival  of  the  benevolent 
rtavendish,  whom  he  expected.  When  he  appeared,  he  declared 
is  increased  alarm.  Dr.  Cavendish  having  felt  the  patient's 
ulse,  expressed  a wish  that  he  could  be  induced  to  take  a little 
L'xercise.  Thaddeus  had  often  urged  this  necessity  to  his 
fiend,  but  met  with  constant  refusals.  He  hopelessly  repeated 
[le  entreaty  now,  when,  to  his  surprise  and  satisfaction,  the 
;ld  man  instantly  consented. 

Having  seen  him  comfortably  dressed,  (for  the  count  at- 
snded  to  these  minutiae  with  the  care  of  a son,)  the  doctor 
. aid  they  must  ride  with  him  to  Hyde  Park,  where  he  would  put 
lem  out  to  walk  until  he  had  made  a visit  to  Piccadilly,  whence 
e would  return  and  take  them  home. 

The  general  not  only  expressed  pleasure  at  the  drive,  but 
ks  the  air  was  warm  and  balmy,  (it  being  about  the  beginning 
(f  June,)  he  made  no  objection  to  the  proposed  subsequent 
&alk. 

^ He  admired  the  Park,  the  Serpentine  River,  the  cottage  on 
i s bank,  and  seemed  highly  diverted  by  the  horsemen  and  car- 
f iages  in  the  ring.  The  pertinence  of  his  remarks  afforded 
! Taddeus  a ray  of  hope  that  his  senses  had  nqt  entirely  lost 
I leir  union  with  reason  ; and  with  awakened  confidence  he  was 
pntemplating  what  might  be  the  happy  effects  of  constant  ex- 
^^cise,  when  the  general’s  complaints  of  weariness  obliged  him 
b stop  near  Piccadilly  Gate,  and  wait  the  arrival  of  the  doc- 
4r’s  coach. 

‘ He  was  standing  against  the  railing,  supporting  Butzou,  and 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


544 

•with  his  hat  in  his  hand  shading  his  aged  friend’s  face  from 
the  sun,  when  two  or  three  carriages  driving  in,  he  met  the  eyes 
of  Miss  Euphemia  Dundas,  who  pulling  the  check-string,  ex- 
claimed, “ Bless  me,  Mr.  Constantine  ! Who  expected  to  see 
you  here  ? Why^  your  note  told  us  you  were  confined  with  a 

sick  friend.”  . . . . , 

Thaddeus  bowed  to  her,  and  still  sustaining  the  debilitated 
frame  of  the  general  on  his  arm,  advanced  to  the  side  of  the 
coach.  Miss  Beaufort,  who  now  looked  out,  expressed  her 
hope  that  his  invalid  was  better. 

“ This  is  the  friend  I mentioned,”  said  the  count,  turning 
his  eyes  on  the  mild  features  of  Butzou  ; “ his  physician  having 
ordered  him  to  walk,  I accompanied  him  hither.’’  _ 

“ Dear  me  ! how  ill  you  look,  sir,’’  cried  Euphemia,  ach 
dressing  the  poor  invalid ; “ but  you  are  attended  by  a kind 

friend.”  , 

“ My  dear  lord  ! ” exclaimed  the  old  man,  not  regarding 
•what  she  said,  “ I must  go  home.  I am  tired ; pray  call  uj. 

the  carriage.”  1 u * -n/t- 

Euphemia  was  again  opening  her  mouth  to  speak,  but  Misf 

Beaufort,  perceiving  a look  of  distress  in  the  expressive  feat 
ures  of  Thaddeus,  interrupted  her  by  saying,  “ Good-morning 
Mr.  Constantine.  I know  we  detain  you  and  oppress  that  gen 
tleman,  whose  pardon  we  ought  to  beg.”  She  bowed  her  leai 
to  the  general,  whose  white  hairs  were  blowing  about  his  tace 
as  he  attempted  to  pull  the  count  towards  the  pathway.  _ , 
“ My  friend  cannot  thank  you,  kind  Miss  Beaufort,  criei 
Thaddeus,  with  a look  of  gratitude  that  called^the  bnghtes 
roses  to  her  cheeks  ; “ but  I do  from  my  heart ! _ 

“ Here  it  is ! Pray,  my  dear  lord,  come  along ! cne 
Butzou.  Thaddeus,  seeing  that  his  information  was  righ' 
bowed  to  the  ladies,  and  their  carriage  drove  off. 

Though  the  wheels  of  Lady  Dundas’s  coach  rolled  aw?v 
from  the  retreating  figures  of  Thaddeus  and  his  friend,  the  in 
ao-es  of  both  occupied  the  meditations  of  Euphemia  and  _Mn 
Beaufort  whilst,  ute-a-tete  and  in  silence,  they  made  the  circu 

of  the  Park.  , • 1 4.1  „i 

When  the  carriage  again  passed  the  spot  on  which  the  su 
ject  of  their  thoughts  had  stood,  Mary  almost  mechamcalJ 
looked  out  towards  the  gate. 

“ Is  he  gone  yet  ? ” asked  Euphemia,  sighing  deeply.  _ 
Mary  drew  in  her  head  with  the  quickness  of  conscioi 
guilt ; and  whilst  a color  stained  her  face,  which  of  itself  migl 
have  betrayed  her  prevarication,  she  asked,  “ Who. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 


24S 


J:  ‘‘  Mr.  Constantine,”  replied  Euphemia,  with  a second  sigh. 

Did  you  remark,  Mary,  how  gracefully  he  supported  that  sick 
I old  gentleman 't  Was  it  not  the  very  personification  of  Youth 
[apholding  the  fainting  steps  of  Age  ? He  put  me  in  mind  of 
:he  charming  young  prince,  whose  name  I forget,  leading  the 
i Did  Belisarius.” 

I “ Yes,”  returned  Mary  ashamed  of  the  momentary  insin- 
[:erity  couched  in  her  former  uncertain  replying  word,  ‘‘  Who  ? ” 

' ^et  still  adding,  while  trying  to  smile,  “ but  some  people  might 
call  our  ideas  enthusiasm.” 

I,  “ So  all  tell  me,”  replied  Euphemia ; so  all  say  who 
' neither  possess  the  sensibility  nor  the  candor  to  allow  that 
great  merit  may  exist  without  being  associated  with  great  rank. 
Yet,”  cried  she,  in  a more  animated  tone,  I have  my  doubts, 
Mary,  of  his  being  what  he  seems.  Did  you  observe  the  sick 
gentleman  call  him  My  lordV'* 

‘‘  1 did,”  returned  Mary,  and  I was  not  surprised.  Such 
manners  as  Mr.  Constantine’s  are  not  to  be  acquired  in  a 
cottage.” 

‘‘  Dear,  dear  Mary ! ” cried  Euphemia,  flinging  her  ivory 
arms  round  her  neck  ; “ how  I love  you  for  these  words  ! You 
are  generous,  you  think  nobly,  and  I will  no  longer  hestitate  to 
" — to — ” and  breaking  off,  she  hid  her  head  in  Miss  Beaufort’s 
bosom. 

Mary’s  heart  throbbed,  her  cheeks  grew  pale,  and  almost 
unconsciously  she  wished  to  stop  the  tide  of  Miss  Dundas’s 
j,  confidence. 

: “Dear  Euphemia!  ” answered  she,  “your  regard  for  this 

interesting  exile  is  very  praiseworthy.  But  beware  of .” 

; She  hesitated  ; a remorseful  twitch  in  her  own  breast  stayed 
; the  warning  that  was  rising  to  her  tongue  ; and  blushing  at  a 
motive  she^could  not  at  the  instant  assign  to  friendship,  selfish- 
i ness,  or  to  any  interest  she  would  not  avow  to  herself,  she 
„ touched  the  cheek  of  Euphemia  with  her  quivering  lips. 

Euphemia  had  finished  the  sentence  for  her,  and  raising  her 
, head,  exclaimed,  “ What  should  I fear  in  esteeming  Mr.  Con- 
stantine Is  he  not  the  most  captivating  creature  in  the  world  I 
And  for  his  ^person  I Oh,  Mary,  he  is  so  beautiful,  that  when 
the  library  is  filled  with  the  handsomest  men  in  town,-  the  mo- 
ment Constantine  enters,  their  reign  is  over.  I compare  them 
with  his  godlike  figure,  and  I feel  as  one  looking  at  the  sun  ; 
jrtall  other  objects  appear  dim  and  shapeless.” 

^ “I  hope,”  returned  Mary, — pressing  her  own  forehead  with 

her  hand,  her  head  beginning  to  ache  strangely, — “ that  Mr. 


246 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


Constantine  does  not  owe  your  friendship  to  his  fine  person.  I 
think  his  mental  qualities  are  more  deserving  of  such  a gift.” 

“ Don’t  look  so  severe,  dear  Mary!”  cried  Miss  Dundas, 
observing  her  contracting  biuDw ; are  you  displeased  with 
me  ? ” 

Mary’s  displeasure  was  at  the  austerity  of  her  own  words, 
and  not  at  her  auditor.  Raising  her  eyes  with  a smile,  she 
gently  replied,  “ I do  not  mean,  my  dear  girl,  to  be  severe  ; but 
I would  wish,  for  the  honor  of  our  sex,  that  the  objects  which  ] 
attract  either  our  love  or  our  compassion  -should  have  some-  i 
thing  more  precious  than  mere  exterior  beauty  to  engage  our 
interest.” 

“ Well,  I will  soon  be  satisfied,”  cried  Euphemia,  in  a gayer 
tone,  as  they  drove  through  Grosvenor  Gate  ; “ we  all  know 
that  Constantine  is  sensible  and  accomplished  : he  writes  poe- 
try like  an  angel,  both  in  French  and  Italian.  I have  hundreds 
of  mottoes  composed  by  him ; one  of  them,  Mary,  is  on  the 
work-box  I gave  you  yesterday  ; and,  what  is  more,  I will  ask 
him  to-morrow  why  that  old  gentleman  called  him  My  lord  1 
If  he  be  a lord  ! ” exclaimed  she. 

What  then  ” inquired  the  eloquent  eyes  of  Mary. 

“ Don’t  look  so  impertinent,  my  dear,”  cried  the  now  ani- 
mated beauty  : “ I positively  won’t  say  another  word  to  you  to- 
day.” 

Miss  Beaufort’s  headache  became  so  painful,  she  rejoiced 
when  Euphemia  ceased  and  the  carriage  drew  up  to  Lady  Dun- 
das’s  door. 

A night  of  almost  unremitted  sleep  performed  such  good 
effects  on  the  general  condition  of  General  Butzou,  that  Dr. 
Cavendish  thought  his  patient  so  much  better  as  to  sanction 
his  hoping  the  best  consequences  from  a frequent  repetition  of 
air  and  exercise.  When  the  drive  and  walk  had  accordingly 
been  repeated  the  following  day,  Thaddeus  left  his  friend  to  his 
maps,  and  litth  Nanny’s  attendance,  and  once  more  took  the 
way  to  Harley  Street. 

He  found  only  Miss  Dundas  with  her  sister  in  the  study. 
Mary  (against  her  will,  which  she  opposed  because  it  was  her 
will)  had  gone  out  shopping  with  Miss  Dorotliiy  and  Lady 
Dundas.  ‘ 

Miss  Dundas  left  the  room  the  moment  she  had  finished 
her  lessons. 

Delighted  at  being  tete-a-tete  with  the  object  of  her  romantic 
fancies,  Euphemia  forgot  that  she  was  to  act  the  retreating 
character  of  Madame  d’Arblay’s  heroine ; and  shutting  her 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


247 

book  the  instant  Diana  disappeared,  all  at  once  opened  her 
attack  on  his  confidence. 

I'o  her  eager  questions,  which  the  few  words  of  the  general 
|had  excited,  the  count  afforded  no  other  reply  than  that  his 
poor  friend  knew  not  what  he  said,  having  been  a long  time  in 
^a  state  of  mental  derangement. 

This  explanation  caused  a momentary  mortification  in  the 
imaginative  Euphemia ; but  her  busy  mind  was  nimble  in  its 
. erection  of  airy  castles,  and  she  rallied  in  a moment  with 
the  idea  that  he  might  be  more  than  a lord.”  At  any  rate, 
let  him  be  what  he  may,  he  charmed  her ; and  he  had  much 
ado  to  parry  the  increasing  boldness  of  her  speeches,  without 
letting  her  see  they  were  understood. 

, ‘‘You  are  very  diffident,  Mr.  Constantine,”  cried  she,  look- 
ing down.  “ If  I consider  you  worthy  of  my  friendship,  why 
.should  you  make  disqualifying  assertions.^  ” 
y “ Every  man,  madam,”  returned  Thaddeus,  bowing  as  he 
rose  from  his  chair,  “ must  be  diffident  of  deserving  the  honor 
of  your  notice.” 

“ There  is  no  man  living,”  replied  she,  “ to  whom  I would 
offer  my  friendship  but  yourself.” 

,]  Thaddeus  bit  his  lip  ; he  knew  not  what  to  answer.  Bow- 
ing a second  time,  he  stretched  out  his  hand  and  drew  his  hat 
towards  him.  Euphemia’s  eyes  followed  tlie  movement. 

“ You  are  in  a prodigious  haste,  Mr.  Constantine  ! ” 

“ I know  I intrude,  madam  ; and  I have  promised  to  be 
with  my  sick  friend  at  an  early  hour.” 

jr  “WeM,  you  may  go,  since  you  are  obliged,”  returned  the 
pretty  E ipliemia,  rising,  and  smiling  sweetly  as  she  laid  one 
hand  on  his  arm  and  put  the  other  into  her  tucker.  She  drew 
out  a little  white  leather  souvenir'.^  marked  on  the  back  in  gold 
;letters  with  the  words,  “ Toujours  dm' and  slipping  it  into 
^phis  hand,  “ There,  receive  that,  monsignor.,  or  whatever  else 
. you  may  be  called,  and  retain  it  as  the  first  pledge  of  Euphemia 
Dundas’s  friendship.” 

Thaddeus  colored  as  he  took  it ; and  again  having  recourse 
, to  the  convenient  reply  of  a bow,  left  the  room  in  embarrassed 
^vexation. 

There  was  an  indelicacy  in  this  absolutely  wooing  conduct 
of  Miss  Euphemia  which,  notwithstanding  her  beauty  and  the 
j softness  that  was  its  vehicle,  filled  him  with  the  deepest  dis- 
1 gust.  He  could  not  trace  real  affection  in  her  words  or  man- 
! ner  ; and  that  any  woman,  instigated  by  a mere  whim,  should 
I lay  aside  the  maidenly  reserves  of  her  sex,  and  actually  court 
I his  regard,  surprised  whilst  it  impelled  him  to  loathe  her, 


248 


THADDEUS  OF  PFAESAJV. 


They  who  adopt  Euphemia’s  sentiments, — and,  alas  ! there 
are  some, — can  be  little  aware  of  the  conclusion  which  society 
infer  from  such  intemperate  behavior.  The  mistaken  creature 
who,  either  at  the  impulsion  of  her  own  disposition  or  by  the 
influence  of  example,  is  induced  to  despise  the  guard  of  mod- 
esty, literally  forsakes  the  guide  of  her  youth,”  and  leaves 
herself  open  to  every  attack  which  man  can  devise  against  her. 
By  levelling  the  barrier  raised  by  nature,  she  herself  exposes 
the  stronghold  of  virtue,  and  may  find,  too  late  for  recovery, 
that  what  modesty  has  abandoned  is  not  long  spared  by  honor. 

Euphemia’s  affected  attachment  suggested  to  Thaddeus  a 
few  unpleasant  recollections  respecting  the  fervent  and  un- 
equivocal passion  of  Lady  Sara.  Though  guilty,  it  sprung 
from  a headlong  ardor  of  disposition  which  formed  at  once  the 
error  and  its  palliation.  He  saw  that  love  was  not  welcomed 
by  her  (at  least  he  thought  so)  as  a plaything,  but  struggled 
against  as  with  a foe.  He  had  witnessed  her  tortures  : he 
pitied  them,  and  to  render  her  happy,  would  gladly  have  made 
any  sacrifice  short  of  his  conscience.  Too  well  assured  of  be- 
ing all  the  world  to  Lady  Sara,  the  belief  that  Miss  Euphemia 
liked  him  only  from  idleness,  caprice,  and  contradiction,  caused 
him  to  repay  her  overtures  with  decided  contempt. 

When  he  arrived  at  home,  he  threw  on  his  table  the  pocket- 
book  whose  unambiguous  motto  made  him  scorn  her,  and  al- 
most himself  for  being  the  object  of  such  folly.  Looking- 
round  his  humble  room,  whose  wicker-chairs,  oil-cloth  floor, 
and  uncurtained  windows  announced  anything  but  elegance  : 

Poor  Euphemia ! ” said  he;  ‘‘how  would  you  be  dismayed 
were  the  indigent  Constantine  to  really  take  you  at  your  word, 
and  bring  vou  home  to  a habitation  like  this  ! ” 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

INFLUENCES  OF  CHARACTER. 

The  recital  of  the  preceding  scene,  which  was  communi- 
cated to  Miss  Beaufort  by  Euphemia,  filled  her  with  still  more 
doubting  thoughts. 

Mary  could  discover  no  reason  why  the  old  gentleman’s 
mental  derangement  should  dignify  his  friend  with  titles  he 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


2 49 


had  never  borne.  She  remarked  to  herself  that  his  answer  to 
Eiiphemia  was  evasive ; she  remembered  his  emotion  and 
apology  on  seeing  Mr.  C.  Kemble  in  Adelbert ; and  uniting 
with  these  facts  his  manners  and  acquirements,  so  far  beyond 
the  charges  of  any  subordinate  rank,  she  could  finally  retain 
no  doubt  of  his  being  at  least  well  born. 

Thus  this  mysterious  Constantine  continued  to  occupy  her 
hourly  thoughts  during  the  space  of  two  months,  in  which  time 
she  had  full  opportunity  to  learn  much  of  a character  with 
whom  she  associated  almost  every  day.  At  Lady  Tinemouth’s 
(one  of  whose  evening  guests  she  frequently  became)  she  be- 
held him  disencumbered  of  that  armor  of  reserve  which  he 
usually  wore  in  Harley  Street. 

In  the  circle  of  the  countess,  Mary  saw  him  welcomed  like 
an  idolized  being  before  whose  cheering  influence  all  frowns 
and  clouds  must  disappear.  When  he  entered,  the  smile  re- 
sumed its  seat  on  the  languid  features  of  Lady  Tinemouth  ; 
Miss  Lgerton’s  eye  lighted  up  to  keener  archness  ; Lady  Sara’s 
Circassian  orbs  floated  in  pleasure;  and  for  Mary  herself,  her 
breast  heaved,  her  cheeks  glowed,  her  hands  trembled,  a quick 
sigh  fluttered  in  her  bosom  ; and  whilst  she  remained  in  his 
presence,  she  believed  that  happiness  had  lost  its  usual  evanes- 
cent property,  and  become  tangible,  to  hold  and  press  upon 
her  heart. 

Mary,  who  investigated  the  cause  of  these  tremors  on  her 
pillow,  bedewed  it  with  delicious  though  bitter  tears,  when  her 
alarmed  soul  whispered  that  she  nourished  for  this  amiable 
foreigner  “a  something  than  friendship  dearer.” 

‘‘  Ah  ! is  it  come  to  this  ? ” cried  she,  pressing  down  her 
saturated  eyelids  with  her  hand.  ‘‘  Am  I at  last  to  love  a man 
who,  perhaps,  never  casts  a thought  on  me  ? How  despicable 
shall  I become  in  my  own  eyes  ! ” 

The  pride  of  woman  puts  this  charge  to  her  taken  heart — 
that  heart  which  seems  tempered  of  the  purest  clay,  and 
warmed  with  the  fire  of  heaven  ; that  tender  and  disinterested 
heart  asks  as  its  appeal — What  is  love  ? Is  it  not  an  admira- 
tion of  all  that  is  beautiful  in  nature  and  in  the  soul  ? Is  it 
not  a union  of  loveliness  with  truth  ? Is  it  not  a passion  whose 
sole  object  is  the  rapture  of  contemplating  the  supreme  beauty 
of  this  combined  character  ? 

“Where,  then,”  cried  the  enthusiastic  Mary,  “where  is 
the  shame  that  can  be  annexed  to  my  loving  Constantine  ? If 
it  be  honorable  to  love  delineated  excellence,  it  must  be  equally 
so  to  love  it  when  embodied  in  a human  shape.  Such  it  is  in 


2CiO 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


Constantine  ; and  if  love  be  the  reflected  light  of  virtue,  I may 
cea  ie  to  arraign  myself  of  that  which  otherwise  I would  have 
scorned.  Therefore,  Constantine,’’  cried  she,  raising  her 
clasped  hands,  whilst  renewed  tears  streamed  over  her  face, 
I will  love  thee ! I will  pray  for  thy  happiness,  though  its 
partner  should  be  Euphemia  Dundas.” 

Mary’s  eager  imagination  would  not  allow  her  to  perceive 
those  obstacles  in  the  shapes  of  pride  and  prudence,  which 
would  stand  in  the  way  of  his  obtaining  Euphemia’s  hand  ; its 
light  showed  to  her  only  a rival  in  the  person  of  the  little  beauty ; 
but  from  her  direct  confidence  she  continued  to  retreat  with 
abhorrence. 

Had  Euphemia  been  more  deserving  of  Constantine,  Miss 
Beaufort  believed  she  would  have  been  less  reluctant  to  hear 
that  she  loved  him.  But  Mary  could  not  avoid  seeing  that 
Miss  E.  Dundas  possessed  little  to  ensure  connubial  comfort,  if 
mere  beauty  and  accidental  flights  of  good  humor  were  not  to 
be  admitted  into  the  scale.  She  was  weak  in  understanding, 
timid  in  principle,  absurd  in  almost  every  opinion  she  adopted  ; 
and  as  for  love,  true,  dignified,  respectable  love,  she  knew 
nothing  of  the  sentiment. 

Whilst  Miss  Beaufort  meditated  on  this  meagre  schedule  of 
her  rival’s  merits,  the  probability  that  even  such  a man  as 
Constantine  might  sacrifice  himself  to  flattery  and  to  splendor 
stung  her  to  the  soul. 

The  more  she  reflected  on  it,  the  more  she  conceived  it 
possible.  Euphemia  was  considered  a beauty  of  the  day;  her 
affectation  of  refined  prettiness  pleased  many,  and  might  charm 
Constantine  : she  was  mistress  of  fifty  thousand  pounds,  and 
did  not  esteem  it  necessary  to  conceal  from  her  favorite  the 
empire  he  had  acquired.  Perhaps  there  was  generosity  in  this 
openness  } If  so,  what  might  it  not  effect  on  a grateful  dispo- 
sition ? or,  rather,  (her  mortified  heart  murmured  in  the  words 
of  her  aunt  Dorothy,)  ‘‘  how  might  it  not  operate  on  the  mind 
of  one  of  that  sex,  which,  at  the  best,  is  as  often  moved  by  ca- 
price as  by  feeling.” 

Mary  blushed  at  her  adoption  of  this  opinion  ; and,  angry 
with  herself  for  the  injustice  which  a lurking  jealousy  had 
excited  in  her  to  apply  to  Constantine’s  noble  nature,  she  re- 
solved, whatever  might  be  her  struggles,  to  promote  his  hap- 
piness, though  even  with  Euphemia,  to  the  utmost  of  her 
power. 

The  next  morning,  when  Miss  Beaufort  saw  the  study  door 
opened  for  her  entrance^  she  found  Mb  Constantine  at  his 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


251 


station,  literally  baited  between  Miss  Dundas  and  her  honor' 
able  lover.  At  such  moments  Mary  appeared  the  kindest  oi 
the  kind.  She  loved  to  see  Constantine  smile  ; and  whenever 
she  could  produce  that  effect,  by  turning  the  spleen  of  these 
polite  sneerers  against  themselves,  his  smiles,  which  ever 
entered  her  heart,  afforded  her  a banquet  for  hours  after  his 
departure. 

Mary  drew  out  her  netting,  (which  was  a purse  for  Lady 
Tinemouth,)  and  taking  a seat  beside  Euphemia,  united  with 
her  to  occupy  his  attention  entirely,  that  he  might  not  catch 
even  one  of  those  insolent  glances  which  were  passing  between 
Lascelles  and  a new  visitant,  the  pretty  lady  Hilliars. 

This  lady  seemed  to  take  extreme  pleasure  in  accosting 
Thaddeus  by  the  appellation  of  ‘‘  Friend,’’  ‘‘  My  good  man,” 
“ Mr.  What’s-your-name,”  and  similar  squibs  of  insult,  with 
which  the  prosperous  assail  the  unfortunate.  Such  random 
shots  they  know  often  inflict  the  most  galling  wounds. 

However,  “ Friend,”  My  good  man,”  and  ‘‘ Mr.  What’s- 
your-name,”  disappointed  this  lady’s  small  artillery  of  effect. 
He  seemed  Invulnerable  both  to  her  insolence  and  to  her  affec- 
tation ; for  to  be  thought  a wit,  by  even  Miss  Dundas’s  emigrant 
tutor,  was  not  to  be  despised ; though  at  the  very  moment  in 
which  she  desired  his  admiration,  she  supposed  her  haughtiness 
had  impressed  him  with  a proper  sense  of  his  own  meanness 
and  a high  conception  of  her  dignity. 

She  jumped  about  the  room,  assumed  infantine  airs,  played 
with  Euphemia’s  lap-dag,  fondled  it,  seated  herself  on  the  floor 
and  swept  the  carpet  with  her  fine  flaxen  tresses ; but  she  per- 
formed the  routine  of  captivation  in  vain.  Thaddeus  recol- 
lected having  seen  this  pretty  full-grown  baby,  in  her  peculiar 
character  of  a profligate  wife,  pawning  her  own  and  her  lius- 
band’s  property  ; he  remembered  this,  and  the  united  shafts  of 
her  charms  and  folly  fell  unnoticed  to  the  ground. 

When  Thaddeus  took  his  leave.  Miss  Beaufort,  as  w^s  her 
custom,  retired  for  an  hour  to  read  in  her  dressing-room,  before 
she  directed  her  attention  to  the  toilet.  She  opened  a book, 
and  ran  over  a few  pages  of  Madame  de  Stael’s  Treatise  on  the 
Passions  ; but  such  reasoning  was  too  abstract  for  her  present 
frame  of  mind,  and  she  laid  the  volume  down. 

She  dipped  her  pen  in  the  inkstand.  Being  a letter  in  debt 
to  her  guardian,  she  thought  she  would  defray  it  now.  She  ac- 
complished “ My  dear  uncle,”  and  stopped.  Whilst  she  rested 
on  her  elbow,  and,  heedless  of  what  she  was  doing,  picked  the 
feather  of  her  quill  to  pieces,  no  other  idea  offered  itself  than 


25? 


TIIADDEUS  OF  H^ARSAW, 


the  figure  of  Thaddeus  sitting  ‘^severe  in  youthful  beauty!  ’’ 
and  surrounded  by  the  contumelies  with  which  the  unworthy 
hope  to  disparage  the  merit  they  can  neither  emulate  nor  over- 
look. 

Uneasy  with  herself,  she  pushed  the  table  away,  and,  lean- 
ing her  cheek  on  her  arm,  gazed  into  the  rainbow  varieties  of  a 
beaupot  of  flowers  which  occupied  the  fireplace.  Even  their 
gay  colors  appeared  to  fade  before  her  sight,  and  present  to 
her  vacant  eye  the  form  of  Thaddeus,  with  the  melancholy  air 
which  shaded  his  movements.  She  turned  round,  but  could 
not  disengage  herself  from  the  spirit  that  was  within  her ; his 
half-suppressed  sighs  seemed  yet  to  thrill  in  her  ear  and  weigh 
upon  her  heart. 

Incomparable  young  man  ! ’’  cried  she,  starting  up,  why 
art  thou  so  wretched  ? Oh  ! Lady  Tinemouth,  why  have  you 
told  me  of  his  many  virtues  Why  have  I convinced  myself 
that  what  you  said  is  true  ? Oh  ! why  was  I formed  to  love  an 
excellence  which  I never  can  approach  ?” 

The  natural  reply  to  these  self-demanded  questions  sug- 
gesting itself,  she  assented  with  a tear  to  the  whisperings  of  her 
heart — that  when  cool,  calculating  reason  would  banish  the  af- 
fections, it  is  incapable  of  filling  their  place. 

She  rang  the  bell  for  her  maid. 

“ Marshall,  who  dines  with  Lady  Dundas  to-day? 

‘‘  I believe,  ma’am,”  replied  the  girl,  “ Mr.  Lascelles,  Lady 
Hilliars,  and  the  Marquis  of  Elesmere.” 

“ I dislike  them  all  three  ! ” cried  Mary,  with  an  impatience 
to  which  she  was  little  liable  ;■  dress  me  how  you  like  : I am 
indifferent  to  my  appearance.” 

Marshall  obeyed  the  commands  of  her  lady,  who,  hoping  to 
divert  her  thoughts,  took  up  the  poems  of  Pigerton  Brydges. 
But  the  attempt  only  deepened  her  emotion,  for  every  line  in 
that  exquisite  little  volume  gives  a very  echo  to  the  seat  where 
love  is  throned  ! ” ' 

She  closed  the  book  and  sighed.  Marshall  having  fixed  the 
last  pearl  comb  in  her  mistress’s  beautiful  hair,  and  observing 
that  something  was  wrong  that  disquieted  her,  exclaimed, 
‘‘  Dear  ma’am,  you  are  so  pale  to-day  ! I wish  I might  put  on 
some  gayer  ornaments  1 ” 

“ No,”  returned  Mary,  glancing  a look  at  her  languid  feat- 
ures ; ‘‘no,  Marshall:  I appear  as  well  as  I desire.  Any 
chance  of  passing  unnoticed  in  company  I dislike  is  worth  re- 
taining. No  one  will  be  here  this  evening  whom  I care  to 
please,” 


THADDEUS  OF  IVAESAJV. 


253 


She  was  mistaken  ; other  company  had  been  invited. besides 
.those  whom  the  maid  mentioned.  But  Miss  Beaufort  continued 
from  seven  o’clock  until  ten,  the  period  at  which  the  ladies  left 
the  table,  the  annoyed  victim  of  the  insipid  and  pert  compli- 
ments of  Lord  Elesmere. 

Sick  of  his  subjectless  and  dragging  conversation,  she 
gladly  followed  Lady  Dundas  to  the  drawing-room,  where, 
opening  her  knitting  case,  she  took  her  station  in  a remote 
corner. 

After  half  an  hour  had  elapsed,  the  gentlemen  from  below, 
recruited  by  fresh  company,  thronged  in  fast ; and,  notwith- 
standing it  was  styled  a family  party.  Miss  Beaufort  saw  many 
new  faces,  amongst  whom  she  observed  an  elderly  clergyman, 
who  was  looking  about  for  a chair.  The  yawning  Lascelles 
threw  himself  along  the  only  vacant  sofa,  just  as  the  reverend 
gentleman  approached  it. 

Miss  Beaufort  immediately  rose,  and  was  moving  on  to 
another  room,  when  the  coxcomb,  springing  up,  begged  permis- 
sion to  admire  her  work  ; and,  without  permission,  taking  it 
from  her,  pursued  her,  twisting  the  purse  around  his  fingers  and 
talking  all  the  while. 

Mary  walked  forward,  smiling  with  contempt,  until  they 
reached  the  saloon,  where  the  Misses  Dundas  were  closely  en- 
gaged in  conversation  with  the  Marquis  of  Elesmere. 

Lascelles,  who  trembled  for  his  Golconda  at  this  sight, 
stepped  briskly  up.  Miss  Beaufort,  who  did  not  wish  to  lose 
sight  of  her  purse  whilst  in  the  power  of  such  a Lothario,  fol- 
lowed him,  and  placed  herself  against  the  arm  of  the  sofa  on 
which  Euphemia  sat. 

Lascelles  now  bowed  his  scented  locks  to  Diana  in  vain  ; 
Lord  Elesmere  was  describing  the  last  heat  at  Newmarket,  and 
the  attention  of  neither  lady  could  be  withdrawn. 

The  beau  became  so  irritated  by  the  neglect  of  Euphemia, 
and  so  nettled  at  he;  sister’s  overlooking  him,  that  assuming  a 
gay  air,  he  struck  Miss  Dundas’s  arm  a smart  stroke  with  Miss 
Beaufort’s  purse  ; and  laughing,  to  show  the  strong  opposition 
between  his  broad  white  teeth  and  the  miserable  mouth  of  his 
lordly  rival,  hoped  to  alarm  him  by  his  familiarity,  and  to  obtain 
a triumph  over  the  ladies  by  degrading  them  in  the  eyes  of  the 
peer. 

“ Miss  Dundas,”  demanded  he,  who  was  that  quiz  of  a 
man  in  black  your  sister  walked  with  the  other  day  in  Portland 
Place  ? ’ 

‘‘  Me  1 ” cried  Euphemia,  surprised. 


254 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W, 


Ay  ! returned  he ; I was  crossing  from  Weymouth  Street, 
when  I perceived  you  accost  a strange-looking  person — a courier 
from  the  moon,  perhaps  ! You  may  remember  you  sauntered 
with  him  as  far  as  Sir  William  Miller’s.  I would  have  joined 
you,  but  seeing  the  family  standing  in  the  balcony,  I did  not 
wish  them  to  suppose  that  I knew  anything  of  such  queer 
company.” 

‘‘  Who  was  it,  Euphemia  ? ” inquired  Miss  Dundas,  in  a 
severe  tone. 

‘‘  I wonder  he  affects  to  be  ignorant,”  answered  her  sister, 
angrily  ; ‘‘  he  knows  very  well  it  was  only  Mr.  Constantine.” 

‘‘  And  who  is  Mr.  Constantine  ? ” demanded  the  marquis. 
Mr.  Lascelles  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

E’faith,  my  lord ! a fellow  whom  nobody  knows — a 
teacher  of  languages,  giving  himself  the  airs  of  a prince — a 
writer  of  poetry,  and  a man  who  will  draw  you,  your  house  of 
dogs,  if  you  will  pay  him  for  it.” 

Mary  s heart  swelled. 

“What,  a French  emigrant?”  drawled  his  lordship,  drop- 
ping his  lip ; “ and  the  lovely  Euphemia  wishes  to  soothe  his 
sorrows.” 

“ No,  my  lord,”  stammered  Euphemia,  “ he  is— he  is ” 

“ What ! ” interrupted  Lascelles,  with  a malicious  grin.  “ A 
wandering  beggar,  who  thrusts  himself  into  society  which  may 
some  day  repay  his  insolence  with  chastisement ! And  for  the 
people  who  encourage  him,  they  had  better  beware  of  being 
themselves  driven  from  all  good  company.  Such  confounders 
of  degrees  ought  to  be  degraded  from  the  rank  they  disgrace. 
I understand  his  chief  protectress  is  Lady  Tinemouth  ; his 
second.  Lady  Sara  Ross,  who,  by  way  of  passant  le  temps^ 
shows  she  is  not  quite  inconsolable  at  the  absence  of  her  hus- 
band.” 

Mary,  pale  and  trembling  at  the  scandal  his  last  words  in- 
sinuated, opened  her  lips  to  speak,  when  Miss  Dundas  (whose 
angry  eyes  darted  from  her  sister  to  her  lover)  exclaimed,  “ Mr. 
Lascelles,  I know  not  what  you  mean.  The  subject  you  have 
taken  up  is  below  my  discussion  \ yet  I must  confess,  if  Euphe- 
mia has  ever  disgraced  herself  so  far  as  to  be  seen  walking  with 
a schoolmaster,  she  deserves  all  you  have  said.” 

“ And  why  might  I not  walk  with  him,  sister  ? ” asked  4he 
pool  culprit,  suddenly  recovering  from  her  confusion,  and  look- 
ing pertly  up  ; “who  knew  that  he  was  not  a gentleman  ? ” 

“ Everybody,  ma’am,”  interrupted  Lascelles  ; “ and  when 
a young  woman  of  fashion  condescends  to  be  seen  equalizing 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


255 


herself  with  a creature  depending  on  his  wits  for  support,  she 
is  very  likely  to  incur  the  contempt  of  her  acquaintance  and 
the  censure  of  her  friends.’’ 

“ She  is,  sir,”  said  Mary,  holding  down  her  indignant  heart 
and  forcing  her  countenance  to  appear  serene  ; for  she  ought 
to  know  that  if  those  men  of  fashion,  who  have  no  wit  to  be 
either  their  support  or  ornament,  did  not  proscribe  talents  from 
their  circle,  they  must  soon  find ‘the  greater  glory  dim  the 
less.’  ” 

“True,  madam,”  cried  Lord  Berrington,  who,  having  en- 
tered during  the  contest,  had  stood  unobserved  until  this  mo- 
ment ; “ and  their  gold  and  tinsel  would  prove  but  dross  and 
bubble,  if  struck  by  the  Ithuriel  touch  of  Merit  when  so  advo- 
cated.” 

Mary  turned  at  the  sound  of  his  philanthropic  voice,  and 
gave  him  one  of  those  glances  which  go  immediately  to  the 
soul. 

“ Come,  Miss  Beaufort,”  cried  he,  taking  her  hand  ; “ I see 
the  young  musician  yonder  who  has  so  recently  astonished  the 
public.  I believe  he  is  going  to  sing.  Let  us  leave  this  dis- 
cordant corner,  and  seek  harmony  by  his  side.” 

Mary  gladly  acceded  to  his  request,  and  seating  herself  a 
few  paces  from  the  musical  party,  Berrington  took  his  station 
behind  her  chair. 

When  the  last  melting  notes  of  “ From  shades  of  night  ” 
died  upon  her  ear,  Mary’s  eyes,  full  of  admiration  and  trans- 
port, which  the  power  of  association  rendered  more  intense, 
rejnained  fixed  on  the  singer.  Lord  Berrington  smiled  at  the 
vivid  expression  of  her  countenance,  and  as  the  young  Orpheus 
moved  from  the  instrument,  exclaimed,  “ Come,  Miss  Beau- 
fort, I won’t  allow  you  quite  to  fancy  Braham  the  god  on  whom 

Enamored  Clitie  turned  and  gazed  ! * 

I Listen  a little  to  my  merits.  Do  you  know  that  if  it  were  not 
I for  my  timely  lectures,  Lascelles  would  grow  the  most  insuffer- 
; able  gossip  about  town  ? There  is  not  a match  nor  a divorce 
i near  St.  James’s  of  which  he  cannot  repeat  all  the  whys  and 
L wherefores.  I call  him  Sir  Benjamin  Backbite;  and  I believe 
; he  hates  me  worse  than  Asmodeus  himself.” 

“ Such  a man’s  dislike,”  rejoined  Mary,  “ is  the  highest  en- 
i comium  he  can  bestow.  I never  yet  heard  him  speak  well  of 
: any  person  who  did  not  resemble  himself.” 

♦ This  accomplished  singer  and  composer  still  lives — one  of  the  most  admired  oma- 
i ments  of  the  British  orchestra. — 1845. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  tV. 


256 

And  he  is  not  consistent  even  there, resumed  the  vis- 
count : “ I am  not  sure  I have  always  heard  him  speak  in  the 
gentlest  terms  of  Miss  Dundas.  Yet,  on  that  I cannot  quite 
blame  him  ; for,  on  my  honor,  she  provokes  me  beyond  any 
woman  breathing/’ 

‘‘  Many  women,”  replied  Mary,  smiling,  ‘‘  would  esteem  that 
a flattering  instance  of  power.” 

‘‘  And,  like  everything  that  flatters,”  returned  he,  “ it  would 
tell  a falsehood.  A shrew  can  provoke  a man  who  detests  her. 
As  to  Miss  Dundas,  notwithstanding  her  parade  of  learning, 
she  generally  espouses  the  wrong  side  of  the  argument ; and  J[ 
may  say  with  somebody,  whose  name  I have- forgotten,  that  any 
one  who  knows  Diana  Dundas  never  need  be  at  a loss  for  a 
woman  to  call  impertinent.” 

You  are  not  usually  so  severe,  my  lord  ! ” 

I am  not  usually  so  sincere.  Miss  Beaufort,”  answered 
he  ; but  I see  you  think  for  yourself,  therefore  I make  no 
hesitation  in  speaking  what  I think — to  you.” 

His  auditor  bowed  her  head  sportively  but  modestly.  Lady 
Dundas  at  that  moment  beckoned  him  across  the  room.  She 
compelled  him  to  sit  down  to  whist.  He  cast  a rueful  glance 
at  Mary,  and  took  a seat  opposite  to  his  costly  partner. 

Lord  Berrington  is  a very  worthy  young  man,”  observed 
the  clergyman  to  whom  at  the  beginning  of  the  evening  Miss 
Beaufort  had  resigned  her  chair ; I presume,  madam,  you 
have  been  honoring  him  with  your  conversation  ? ” 

Yes,”  returned  Mary,  noticing  the  benign  countenance  of 
the  speaker ; ‘‘  I have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  long  knowing 
his  lordship,  but  what  I have  seen  of  his  character  is  highly  to 
his  advantage.” 

I was  intimate  in  his  father’s  house  for  years,”  rejoined 
the  gentleman  : ‘‘  I knew  this  young  nobleman  from  a boy.  I! 
he  has  faults,  he  owes  them  to  his  mother,  who  doated  on  him, 
and  rather  directed  his  care  to  the  adornment  of.  his  really 
handsome  person  than  to  the  cultivation  of  talents  he  has  since 
learned  to  appreciate.^ 

‘‘  I believe  Lord  Berrington  to  be  very  sensible,  and,  above 
all,  very  humane,”  returned  Miss  Beaufort. 

‘‘  He  is  so,”  replied  the  old  gentleman  ; ‘‘yet  it  was  not  till 
he  had  attained  the  age  of  twenty-two  that  he  appeared  to 
know  he  had  anything  to  do  in  the  world  besides  dressing  and 
attending  on  the  fair  sex.  His  taste  produced  the  first,  whilst 
the  urbanity  of  his  disposition  gave  birth  to  the  latter.  Wlicn 
Berrington  arrived  at  his  title,  he  was  about  five-and-twenty. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


257 


Sorrow  for  the  death  of  his  amiable  parents,  who  died  in  the 
same  month,  afforded  him  leisure  to  find  his  reason.  He  dis- 
covered that  he  had  been  acting  a part  beneath  him,  and  he 
soon  implanted  on  the  good  old  stock  those  excellent  acquire- 
ments which  you  see  he  possesses.  In  spite  of  his  regenera- 
tion,’^ continued  the  clergyman,  casting  a good-humored  glance 
on  the  dove-colored  suit  of  the  viscount,  “you  perceive  that 
first  impressions  will  remain.  He  loves  dress,  but  he  loves 
justice  and  philanthropy  better.” 

“This  eulogy,  sir,”  said  Mary,  “affords  me  real  pleasure. 
May  I know  the  name  of  the  gentleman  with  whom  I have  the 
honor  to  converse  1 ” 

“My  name  is  Blackmore,”  returned  he. 

“ Dr.  Blackmore  ? ” 

“ The  same.” 

He  was  the  same  Dr.  Blackmore  who  had  been  struck  by 
the  appearance  of  the  Count  Sobieski  at  the  Hummums,  but 
had  never  learned  his  name,  and  who,  being  a rare  visitor  at 
Lady  Du’ndas’s,  had  never  by  chance  met  a second  time  with 
the  object  of  his  compassion. 

“I  am  happy,”  resumed  Miss  Beaufort,  “in  having  the 
good  fortune  to  meet  a clergyman  of  whom  I have  so  frequently 
heard  my  guardian.  Sir  Robert  Somerset,  speak  with  the  high- 
est esteem.” 

“ Ah  ! ” replied  he,  “ I have  not  seen  him  since  the  death 
of  his  lady ; I hope  that  he  and  his  son  are  well  ! ” 

“ Both  are  perfectly  so  now,”  returned  she,  “ and  are  to- 
gether in  the  country  ! ” 

“You,  madam,  1 suppose  are  my  lady’s  niece,  the  daughter 
of  the  brave  Admiral  Beaufort } ” 

“ I am,  sir.” 

“Well,  I rejoice  at  this  incident,”  rejoined  he,  pressing  her 
hand  ; “ I knew  your  motlier  when  she  was  a lovely  girl.  She 
used  to  spend  her  summers  with  the  late  Lady  Spmerset,  at  the 
castle.  It  was  there  I had  the  honor  of  cultivating  her  friend- 
ship.” 

“ I do  not  remember  ever  having  seen  my  mother,”  replied 
the  now  thoughtful  Mary.  Dr.  Blackmore  observing  the  ex- 
pression of  her  countenance,  smiled  kindly,  and  said,  “ I fear  I 
am  to  blame  here.  This  is  a somewhat  sad  way  of  introducing 
myself.  But  your  goodness  must  pardon  me,”  continued  he  ; 
“for  1 have  so  long  accustomed  myself  to  speak  what  I think 
to  those  in  whom  1 see  cause  to  esteem,  that  sometimes  as 
' now  I undcsignedly  inflict  pain.” 


TITADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


258 

Not  in  this  case/’  returned  Miss  Beaufort.  I am  always 
pleased  when  listening  to  a friend  of  my  mother,  and  particu- 
larly so  when  he  speaks  in  her  praise.” 

The  breaking  up  of  the  card-tables  prevented  further  con-  ' 
versation.  Lord  Berrington  again  approached  the  sofa  where  ! 
Mary  sat,  exclaming,  as  he  preceived  her  companion,  ‘‘  Ah  ! - 
my  good  doctor ; have  you  presented  yc  urself  at  this  fair  shrine  ?. 
I declare  you  eccentric  folk  may  dare  anything.  Whilst  you  are  ; 
free.  Miss  Beaufort,”  added  he  turning  to  her,  “ adopt  the  ad- 
vice which  a good  lady  once  gave  me,  and  which  I have  im- 
plicitly followed  : ‘ When  you  are  young,  get  the  character  of , 

an  oddity,  and  it  seats  you  in  an  easy  chair  for  life.’  ” 

Mary  was  interrupted  in  her  reply  by  a general  stir  amongst 
the  company,  who,  now  the  cards  were  over,  like  bees  and 
wasps  were  swarming  about  the  room,  gathering  honey  or  sting- 
ing as  they  went. 

At  one  the  house  was  cleared ; and  Miss  Beaufort  threw 
herself  on  the  pillow,  to  think,  and  then  to  dream  of  Thaddeus. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  GREAT  AND  THE  SMALL  OF  SOCIETY. 

If  it  be  true  what  the  vivid  imaginations  of  poets  have  fre- 
quently asserted,  that  when  the  soul  dreams,  it  is  in  the  actual 
presence  of  those  beings  whose  images  present  themselves  to 
their  slumbers,  then  have  the  siDirit,  of  Thaddeus  and  Mary 
been  often  commingled  at  the  hour  of  midnight;  then  has  the 
young  Sobieski  again  visited  his  distant  country,  again  seen  it 
victorious,  again  knelt  before  his  sainted  parents. 

From  such  visions  as  these  did  Thaddeus  awake  in  the 
morning,  after  having  spent  the  preceding  evening  with  Lady  ^ 
Tinemouth. 

He  had  walked  with  her  ladyship  in  Hyde  Park  till  a latei 
hour.  By  the  mild  light  of  the  moon,  which  shone  brightly 
through  the  still,  balmy  air  of  a midsummer  night,  they  took 
their  way  along  the  shadowy  bank  of  the  Serpentine. 

There  \s  a solemn  appeal  to  the  soul  in  the  repose  of  natiin^ 
that  “ makes  itself  be  felt.”  No  syllable  from  either  Thad^ 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


259 


deus  or  the  countess  for  some  time  broke  the  universal  silence. 
Thadcleus  looked  around  on  the  clear  expanse  of  water,  over- 
shaded by  the  long  reflection  of  the  darkening  trees  ; then  rais- 
ing his  eyes  to  that  beautiful  planet  which  has  excited  tender 
thoughts  in  every  feeling  breast  since  the  creation  of  the  world, 
he  drew  a deep  sigh.  The  countess  echoed  it. 

‘‘  In  such  a night  as  this,^’  said  Thaddeus,  in  a low  voice, 
as  if  afraid  to  disturb  the  sleeping  deity  of  the  place,  “ I used 
to  walk  the  ramparts  of  Villanow  with  my  dear  departed  mother, 
and  gaze  on  that  lovely  orb ; and  when  I was  far  from  her,  I 
have  looked  at  it  from  the  door  of  my  tent,  and  fancying  that 
her  eyes  were  then  fixed  on  the  same  object  as  mine,  I found 
happiness  in  the  idea.’^ 

A tear  stole  down  the  cheek  of  Thaddeus.  That  moon 
yet  shone  brightly  ; but  his  mother’s  eyes  were  closed  in  the 
grave. 

Villanow ! ” repeated  the  countess,  in  a tone  of  tender 
surprise  ; ‘‘  surely  that  was  the  seat  of  the  celebrated  Palatine 
of  Masovia ! You  have  discovered  yourself,  Constantine  ! I am 
much  mistaken  if  you  be  not  his  grandson,  the  young,  yet  far- 
famed,  Thaddeus  Sobieski } ” 

Thaddeus  had  allowed  the  remembrances  pressing  on  his 
mind  to  draw  him  into  a speech  which  had  disclosed  to  the 
quick  apprehension  of  the  countess  what  his  still  too  sensitive 
pride  would  forever  have  concealed. 

“ I have  indeed  betrayed  my  secret,”  cried  he,  incapable  of 
denying  it ; “ but,  dear  lady  Tinemouth,  as  you  value  my  feel- 
ings, never  let  it  escape  your  lips.  Having  long  considered  you 
as  my  best  friend,  and  loved  you  as  a parent,  I forgot,  in  the 
recollection  of  my  beloved  mother,  that  I had  withheld  any  of 
my  history  from  you.”  * 

Mysterious  Providence  ! ” exclaimed  her  ladyship,  after  a 
pause,  in  which  ten  thousand  admiring  and  pitying  reflections 
thronged  on  her  mind  : is  it  possible  ? Can  it  be  the  Count 
Sobieski,  that  brave  and  illustrious  youth  of  whom  every 
foreigner  spoke  with  wonder  Can  it  be  him  that  I behold  in 
the  unknown,  unfriended  Constantine  ? ” 

‘‘  Even  so,”  returned  Thaddeus,  pressing  her  hand.  ‘‘  My 
country  is  no  more.  I am  now  forgotten  by  the  world,  as  I 
have  been  by  fortune.  I have  nothing  to  do  on  the  earth  but 
to  fulfil  the  few  duties  which  a filial  friendship  has  enjoined, 
and  then  it  will  be  a matter  of  indifference  to  me  how  soon  I 
am  laid  in  its  bosom.” 

“You  are  too  young,  dear  Constantine,  (for  1 am  still  to 


26o 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


call  you  by  that  name,)  to  despair  of  happiness  being  yet  re- 
served for  you.’’ 

“ No,  my  dear  Lady  Tinemouth,  I do  not  cheat  myself  with 
such  hope ; I am  not  so  importunate  with  the  gracious  Being 
who  gave  me  life  and  reason.  He  bestowed  upon  me  for  awhile 
the  tenderest  connections — friends,  rank,  honors,  glory.  All 
these  were  crushed  in  the  fall  of  Poland ; yet  I survive.  I 
sought  resignation  only,  and  I have  found  it.  It  cost  me  many 
a struggle ; but  the  contest  was  due  to  the  decrees  of  that  all- 
wise Creator  who  gave  my  first  years  to  happiness.” 

‘‘  Inestimable  young  man  ! ” cried  the  countess,  wiping  the 
flowing  tears  from  her  eyes  ; “ you  teach  misfortune  dignity  ! 
Not  when  all  Warsaw  rose  in  a body  to  thank- you,  not  when 
the  king  received  you  in  the  senate  with  open  arms,  could  you 
have  appeared  to  me  so  worthy  of  admiration  as  at  this  moment, 
when,  conscious  of  having  been  all  this,  you  submit  to  the 
direct  reverse,  because  you  believe  it  to  be  the  will  of  your 
Maker  ! Ah  ! little  does  Miss  Beaufort  think,  when  seated  by 
your  side,  that  she  is  conversing  with  the  youthful  hero  whom 
she  has  so  often  wished  to  see ! ” 

“ Miss  Beaufort ! ” echoed  Thaddeus,  his  heart  glowing 
with  delight.  Do  you  think  she  ever  heard  of  me  by  the  name 
of  Sobieski  ? ’ 

Who  has  not  ? ” returned  the  countess  ; “ every  heart  that 
could  be  interested  by  heroic  virtue  has  heard  and  well  remem- 
bers its  glorious  struggles  against  the  calamities  of  your  country. 
Whilst  the  newspapers  of  the  day  informed  us  of  these  things, 
they  noticed  amongst  the  first  of  her  champions  the  Palatine 
of  Masovia,  Kosciusko,  and  the  young  Sobieski.  Many  an 
evening  have  I passed  with  Miss  Dorothy  and  Mary  Beaufort, 
lamenting  the  fate  of  that  devoted  kingdom.” 

During  this  declaration,  a variety  of  indeed  happy  emotions 
agitated  the  mind  of  Thaddeus,  until,  recollecting  with  a bitter 
pang  the  shameless  ingratitude  of  Pembroke,  when  all  those 
glories  were  departed  from  him,  and  the  cruel  possibility  of 
being  recognized  by  the  Earl  of  Tinemouth  as  his  son,  he  ex- 
claimed, ‘‘  My  dearest  madam,  I entreat  that  what  I have  re- 
vealed to  you  may  never  be  divulged.  Miss  Beaufort’s  friend- 
ship would  indeed  be  happiness ; but  I cannot  purchase  even 
so  great  a bliss  at  the  expense  of  memories  which  are  knit  with 
my  life.” 

“ How  ? ” cried  the  countess  ; ‘‘is  not  your  name,  and  all  its 
attendant  ideas,  an  honor  which  the  proudest  man  might  boast 

Thaddeus  pressed  her  hand  to  his  heart. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W, 


261 


You  are  kind — very  kind  ! yet  I cannot  retract.  Confide, 
dear  Lady  Tinemouth,  in  the  justice  of  my  resolution.  I could 
not  bear  cold  pity ; I could  not  bear  the  heartless  comments  of 
people  who,  pretending  to  compassion,  would  load  me  with  a 
heavy  sense  of  my  calamities.  Besides,  there  are  persons  in 
England  who  are  so  much  the  objects  of  my  aversion,  I would 
rather  die  than  let  them  know  I exist.  Therefore,  once  again, 
dear  Lady  Tinemouth,  let  me  implore  you  to  preserve  my  secret.' ’ 

She  saw  by  the  earnestness  of  his  manner  that  she  ought  to 
comply,  and  without  further  hesitation  promised  all  the  silence 
he  desired. 

This  long  moonlight  conversation,  by  awakening  all  those 
dormant  remembrances  which  were  cherished,  though  hidden 
in  the  depths  of  his  bosom,  gave  birth  to  that  mirage  of  imagin- 
ation which  painted  that  night,  in  the  rapid  series  of  his  tumult- 
uous dreams,  the  images  of  every  being  whom  he  had  ever 
loved,  or  now  continued  to  regard  with  interest. 

Proceeding  next  morning  towards  Harley  Street,  he  mused 
on  what  had  happened  ; and  pleased  that  he  had,  though  unpre- 
meditatedly,  paid  the  just  compliment  of  his  entire  confidence 
to  the  uncommon  friendship  of  the  countess,  he  arrived  at  Lady 
Dundas^s  door  before  he  was  sensible  of  the  ground  he  had 
passed  over,  and  in  a few  minutes  afterwards  was  ushered  into 
his  accustomed  purgatory. 

When  the  servant  opened  the  study-door.  Miss  Euphemia 
was  again  alone.  Thaddeus  recoiled,  but  he  could  not  retreat. 

‘‘Come  in,  Mr.  Constantine,”  cried  the  little  beauty,  in  a 
languid  tone ; “ my  sister  is  going  to  the  riding-school  with  Mr. 
Lascelles.  Miss  Beaufort  wanted  me  to  drive  out  with  her  and 
my  mother,  but  I preferred  waiting  for  you.” 

The  count  bowed ; and  almost  retreating  with  fear  of  what 
might  next  be  said,  he  gladly  heard  a thundering  knock  at  the 
door,  and  a moment  after  the  voice  of  Miss  Dundas  ascending 
the  stairs. 

He  had  just  opened  his  books  when  she  entered,  followed 
by  her  lover.  Panting  under  a heavy  riding-habit,  she  flung 
herself  on  a sofa,  and  began  to  vilify  “the  odious  heat  of 
Pozard’s  odious  place ;”  then  telling  Euphemia  she  would  play 
truant  to-day,  ordered  her  to  attend  to  her  lessons. 

Owing  to  the  warmth  of  the  weather,  Thaddeus  came  out 
this  morning  without  boots ; and  it  being  the  first  time  the 
exquisite  proportion  of  his  figure  had  been  so  fully  seen  by  any 
of  the  present  company  excepting  Euphemia,  Lascelles,  burst- 
ing with  an  emotion  which  he  would  not  call  envy,  measured 


262  THADDFUS  OF  WARSAW: 

the  count’s  graceful  limb  with  his  scornful  eyes ; then  declaring 
he  was  quite  in  a furnace,  took  the  corner  of  his  glove  and  wav- 
ing it  to  and  fro,  half-muttered,  ‘‘Come  gentle  air.” 

“ The  fairer  Lascelles  cries  ! ” exclaimed  Euphemia,  looking 
off  her  exercise. 

“ What ! does  your  master  teach  you  wit  ? ” drawled  the  cox- 
comb, with  a particular  emphasis. 

Thaddeus,  affecting  not  to  hear,  continued  to  direct  his 
pupil. 

The  indefatigable  Lascelles  having  observed  the  compla- 
cence with  which  the  count  always  regarded  Miss  Beaufort, 
determined  the  goad  should  fret;  and  drawing  the  knitting  out 
of  his  pocket  which  he  had  snatched  the  night  before  from 
Mary,  he  exclaimed,  “ ’Fore  heaven,  here  is  my  little  Beaufort’s 
purse ! ” 

Thaddeus  started,  and  unconsciously  looking  up,  beheld  the 
well-known  work  of  Mary  dangling  in  the  hand  of  Lascelles. 
fie  suffered  pangs  unknown  to  him ; his  eyes  became  dim ; and 
hardly  knowing  what  he  saw  or  said,  he  pursued  the  lesson  with 
increased  rapidity. 

Finding  that  his  malice  had  taken  effect,  with  a careless  air 
the  malicious  puppy  threw  his  clumsy  limbs  on  the  sofa,  which 
Miss  Dundas  had  just  quitted  to  seat  herself  nearer  the  window, 
and  cried  out,  as  in  a voice  of  sudden  recollection  : 

“ By  the  bye,  that  Miss  Mary  Beaufort,  when  she  chooses 
to  be  sincere,  is  a staunch  little  Queen  Bess.” 

“You  may  as  well  tell  me,”  replied  Miss  Dundas,  with  a 
deriding  curl  of  her  lip,  “that  she  is  the  Empress  of  Russia.” 

“ I beg  your  pardon  ! ” cried  he,  and  raising  his  voice  to  be 
better  heard,  “ I do  not  mean  in  the  way  of  learning.  But  I 
will  prove  in  a moment  her  creditable  high-mightiness  in  these 
presumptuous  times,  though  a silly  love  of  popularity  induces 
her  to  affect  now  and  then  a humble  guise  to  scwne  people 
beneath  her.  When  she  gave  me  this  gewgaw,”  added  he, 
flourishing  the  purse  in  his  hand,  “she  told  me  a pretty  tissue 
about  a fair  friend  of  hers,  whose  music-master,  mistaking  some 
condescension  on  her  part,  had  dared  to  press  her  snowy  fingers 
while  directing  them  towards  a tender  chord  on  her  harp.  You 
have  no  notion  how  the  gentle  Beaufort’s  blue  eyes  blazed  up 
while  relating  poor  Tweedledum’s  presumption  ! ” 

“ I can  have  a notion  of  anything  these  boasted  meek  young 
ladies  do  when  thrown  off  their  guard,”  haughtily  returned  his 
contemptuous  auditress,  “ after  Miss  Beaufort’s  violent  sally  of 
impertinence  to  you  last  night.” 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


2b3 


i ‘^Impertinence  to  me!’’  echoed  the  fop,  at  the  same  .time 
I dipping  the  end  of  the  knitting  into  Diana’s  lavender-bottle, 

I and  dabbing  his  temples ; she  was  always  too  civil  by  half. 
I hate  forward  girls.” 

Thaddeus  shut  the  large  dictionary  which  lay  before  him 
with  a force  that  make  the  puppy  start,  and  rising  hastily  from 
his  chair,  with  a face  all  crimson,  was  taking  his  hat,  when  the 
door  opened,  and  Mary  appeared. 

A white-chip  bonnet  was  resting  lightly  on  the  glittering 
tresses  which  waved  over  her  forehead,  whilst. her  lace-shade, 
gently  discomposed  by  the  air,  half  veiled  and  half  revealed  her 
graceful  figure.  .She  entered  with  a smile,  and  walking  up  to 
the  side  of  the  table  where  Thaddeus  was  standing,  inquired 
after  his  friend’s  health.  He  answered  her  in  a voice  unusually 
agitated.  All  that  he  had  been  told  by  the  countess  of  her 
favorable  opinion  of  him,  and  the  slander  he  had  just  heard 
from  Diana’s  lover,  were  at  once  present  in  his  mind. 

He  was  yet  speaking,  when  Miss  Beaufort,  casually  looking 
towards  the  other  side  of  the  room,  saw  her  purse  still  acting 
the  part  of  a handkerchief  in  the  hand  of  Mr:  Lacelles. 

“ Look,  Mr.  Constantine,”  said  she,  gayly  tapping  his  arm 
with  her  parasol,  “ how  the  most  precious  things  may  be  de- 
graded ! There  is  the  knitting  you  have  so  often  admired,  and 
which  I intended  for  Lady  Tinemouth’s  pocket,  debased  to  do 
the  office  of  Mr.  Lascelles’s  napkin.” 

“You  gave  it  to  him.  Miss  Beaufort,”  cried  Miss  Dundas  j 
“ and  after  that,  surely  he  may  use  it  as  he  values  it ! ” 

“If  I could  have  given  it  to  Mr.  Lascelles,  madam,  I should 
hardly  have  taken  notice  of  its  fate.” 

Believing  what  her  lover  had  advanced.  Miss  Dundas  was 
displeased  at  Mary  for  having,  by  presents,  interfered  with  any 
of  her  danglers,  and  rather  angrily  replied,  “ Mr.  Lascelles 
said  you  gave  it  to  him ; and  certainly  you  would  not  insinuate 
a word  against  his  veracity  ? ” 

“No,  not  insinuate,”  returned  Miss  Beaufort,  “but  affirm, 
that  he  has  forgotten  his  veracity  in  this  statement.” 

Lascelles  yawned.  “ Lord  bless  me,  ladies,  how  you  quarrel  I 
You  will  disturb  Monsieur  ? ” 

“ Mr.  Constantine,”  returned  Mary,  blushing  with  indigna- 
tion, “cannot  be  disturbed  by  nonsense.” 

Thaddeus  again  drew  his  hat  towards  him,  and  bowing  to 
his  lovely  champion,  with  an  expression  of  countenance  which 
he  little  suspected  had  passed  from  his  heart  to  his  eyes,  he 
was  preparing  to  take  his  leave,  when  Euphemia  requested  him 


264  TIIADDEUS  OF  M^ARSAIV. 

to  inform  her  whether  she  had  folded  down  the  right  pages  for 
the  next  exercise.  He  approached  her,  and  was  leaning  over 
her  chair  to  look  at  the  book,  when  she  whispered,  Don’t  be 
hurt  at  what  Lascelles  says ; he  is  always  jealous  of  anybody 
who  is  handsomer  than  himself.” 

Thaddeus  dropped  his  eyelids  with  a face  of  scarlet ; for 
on  meeting  the  eyes  of  Mary,  he  saw  that  she  had  heard  this 
intended  comforter  as  well  as  himself.  Uttering  a few  incoher- 
ent sentences  to  both  ladies,  he  hurried  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  OBDURACY  OF  VICE — THE  INHUMANITY  OF  FOLLY. 

The  Count  Sobieski  was  prevented  paying  his  customary 
visit  next  morning  in  Harley  Street  by  a sudden  dangerous  in- 
crease of  illness  in  the  general,  who  had  been  struck  at  seven 
o’clock  by  a fit  of  palsy. 

When  Dr.  Cavendish  beheld  the  poor  old  man  stretched  on 
the  bed,  and  hardly  exhibiting  signs  of  life,  he  pronounced  it  to 
be  a death-stroke.  At  this  remark,  Thaddeus,  turning  fearfully 
pale,  staggered  to  a seat,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  altered  feat- 
ures of  his  friend.  Dr.  Cavendish  took  his  hand. 

‘‘Recollect  yourself,  my  dear  sir!  Happen  when  it  may, 
his  death  must  be  a release  to  him.  But  he  may  yet  linger  a 
few  days.” 

“ Not  in  pain,  I hope  ! ” said  Thaddeus. 

“ No,”  returned  the  doctor  ; “ probably  he  will  remain  as 
you  now  see  him,  till  he  expires  like  the  last  glimmer  of  a dying 
taper.” 

The  benevolent  Cavendish  gave  proper  directions  to  Thad- 
deus,  also  to  Mrs.  Robson,  who  promised  to  act  carefully  as 
nurse  ; and  then  with  regret  left  the  stunned  count  to  the  mel- 
ancholy task  of  watching  by  the  bedside  of  his  last  early  friend. 

Thaddeus  now  retained  no  thought  that  was  not  riveted  to 
the  emaciated  form  before  him.  Whilst  the  unconscious  invalid 
struggled  for  respiration,  he  listened  to  his  short  and  convulsed 
breathing  with  sensations  which  seemed  to  tear  the  strings  of 
his  own  breast.  Unable  to  bear  it  longer,  he  moved  to  the  fire- 
side, and  seating  himself,  with  his  pallid  face  and  aching  head 
supported  on  his  arm,  which  rested  on  a plain  deal  table,  he 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


265 

remained  ; meeting  no  other  suspension  from  deep  and  awe- 
struck meditation  than  the  occasional  appearance  of  Mrs.  Rob- 
son on  tiptoes,  peeping  in  and  inquiring  whether  he  wanted 
anything. 

From  this  reverie,  like  unto  the  shadow  of  death,  he  was 
aroused  next  morning  at  nine  o’clock  by  the  entrance  of  Dr. 
Cavendish.  Thaddeus  seized  his  hand  with  the  eagerness  of 
his  awakened  suspense.  “ My^dear  sir,  may  I hope ” 

Not  suffering  him  to  finish  with  what  he  hoped,  the  doctor 
shook  his  head  in  gentle  sign  of  the  vanity  of  that  hope,  and 
advanced  to  the  bed  of  the  general.  He  felt  his  pulse.  No 
change  of  opinion  was  the  consequence,  only  that  he  now  saw 
no  threatenings  of  immediate  dissolution. 

Poor  Butzou ! ” murmured  Thaddeus,  when  the  doctor 
withdrew,  putting  the  general’s  motionless  hand  to  his  quivering 
lips  ; I never  will  leave  thee  ! I will  watch  by  thee,  thou  last 
relic  of  my  country  ! It  may  not  be  long  ere  we  lie  side  by 
side.” 

With  anguish  at  his  heart,  he  wrote  a few  hasty  lines  to  the 
countess ; then  addressing  Miss  Dundas,  he  mentioned  as  the 
i reason  for  his  late  and  continued  absence  the  danger  of  his 
friend. 

j His  note  found  Miss  Dundas  attended  by  her  constant  sha- 
: dow,  Mr.  Lascelles,  Lady  Hilliars,  and  two  or  three  more  fine 
j ladies  and  gentlemen,  besides  Euphemia  and  Miss  Beaufort, 

! who,  with  pensive  countenances,  were  waiting  the  arrival  of  its 
i writer. 

When  Miss  Dundas  took  the  billet  off  the  silver  salver  on 
■ which  her  man  presented  it,  and  looked  at  the  superscription, 
j she  threw  it  into  the  lap  of  Lacelles. 

^ ‘‘  There,”  cried  she,  is  an  excuse,  I suppose,  from  Mr. 

I Constantine,  for  his  impertinence  in  not  coming  hither  yester- 
* :lay.  Read  it,  Lascelles.” 

1 “ ’Fore  Gad,  I wouldn’t  touch  it  for  an  earldom  ! ” exclaimed 

Idle  affected  puppy,  jerking  it  on  the  table.  “ It  might  affect 
: ne  with  the  hypochondriacs.  Pray,  Phemy,  do  you  peruse  it.” 

1 Euphemia,  in  her  earnestness  to  learn  what  detained  Mr. 

[ Constantine,  neglected  the  insolence  of  the  request,  and  hastily 
I breaking  the  seal,  read  as  follows  : — 

Mr.  Constantine  hopes  that  a sudden  and  dangerous  dis- 
, irder  which  has  attacked  the  life  of  a very  dear  friend  with 
' vhom  he  resides  will  be  a sufficient  appeal  to  the  humanity  of 
he  Misses  Dundas,  and  obtain  their  pardon  for  his  relinquish- 
ng  the  honor  of  attending  them  yesterday  and  to-day.” 


266 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


“ Dear  me  ! ” cried  Euphemia,  piteously;  “ bow  sorry  I am ! 

I dare  say  it  is  that  white-haired  old  man  we  saw  in  the  park. 
You  remember,  Mary,  he  was  sick  ? ” 

“ Probably,”  returned  Miss  Beaufort,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  agitated  handwriting  of  Thaddeus. 

“ Throw  the  letter  into  the  street,  Phemy ! ” cried  Miss 
Dundas,  affecting  sudden  terror  ; “ who  knows  but  what  it  is  a 
fever  the  man  has  got,  and  we  may  all  catch  our  deaths.” 

“ Heaven  forbid  ! ” exclaimod  Mary,  in  a voice  of  real 
alarm  ; but  it  was  for  Thaddeus — not  fear  of  any  infectio.i 
which  the  paper  might  bring  to  herself. 

“ Lascelles,  take  away  that  filthy  scrawl  from  Phemy.  How 
can  you  be  so  headstrong,  child?”  cried  Diana,  snatching  the 
letter  from  her  sister  and  throwing  it  from  the  window.  “ I de- 
clare you  are  sufficient  to  provoke  a saint.” 

“ Then  you  may  keep  your  temper,  Di,”  returned  Euphemia, 
with  a sneer  ; “ you  are  far  enough  from  that  title. 

Miss  Dundas  made  a very  angry  reply,  which  was  retaliated 
by  another  ; and  a still  more  noisy  and  disagreeable  altercation 
might  have  taken  place  had  not  a good-humored  lad,  a brotl.ei- 
In-law  of  Lady  Hilliars,  in  hopes  of  calling  off  the  attention  of 
The  sisters,  exclaimed,  “Bless  me.  Miss  Dundas, your  little  c.og 
has  pulled  a folded  sheet  of  paper  from  under  that  stand  ot 
flowers  1 Perhaps  it  may  be  of  consequence.” 

“ Fly  1 Take  it  up,  George  ! ” cried  Lady  Hilliars ; Esop 
will  tear  it  to  atoms  whilst  you  are  asking  questions.” 

After  a chase  round  the  room,  over  chairs  and  under  tables, 
George  Hilliars  at  length  plucked  the  devoted  piece  of  paper 
out  of  the  clog’s  mouth  ; and  as  Miss  Beaufort  was  gathering 
up  her  working  materials  to  leave  the  room,  he  opened  it  ami 
cried,  in  a voice  of  triumph,  “ By  Jove,  it  is  a copy  of  verses  . 

“ Verses  1 ” demanded  Euphemia,  feeling  in  her  pocket, 
and  coloring  ; “ let  me  see  them.” 

“That  you  sha’n’t,”  roared  Lascelles, catching  them  out  of 

the  boy’s  hand  ; “if  they  are  your  writing,  we  will  have  them. 

“ Help  me,  Mary  1 ” cried  Euphemia,  turning  to  Miss  Beau- 
fort ; “ I know  that  nobody  is  a poet  in  this  house  but  myselt. 
They  must  be  mine,  and  I will  have  them.  _ 

“ Surely,  Mr.  Lascelles,”  said  Mary,  compassionating  the 
poor  girl’s  anxiety,  “you  will  not  be  so  rude  as  to  detain  them 

from  their  right  owner  ? ” _ 

“ Oh  ! but  I will,”  cried  he,  mounting  on  a table  to  get  out 
of  Euphemia’s  reach,  who,  half  crying,  tried  to  snatch  at  the 
paper  “ Let  me  alone.  Miss  Phemy.  I will  read  them  , so 
here  goes  it.” 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


267 

Miss  Dundas  laughed  at  her  sister’s  confused  looks,  whilst 
Lascelles  prepared  to  read  in  a loud  voice  the  following  verses. 
Fhoy  had  been  hastily  written  in  pencil  by  Thaddeus  a long 
ime  ago  ; and  having  put  them,  by  mistake,  with  some  other 
capers  into  his  pocket,  he  had  dropped  them  next  day,  in  tak- 
ng  out  his  handkerchief  at  Lady  Dundas’s.  Lascelles  cleared 
i iis  throat  with  three  hems,  then  raising  his  right  hand  with  a 

iourishing  action,  in  a very  pompous  tone  began — 

' * 

' Like  one  whom  Etna’s  torrent  fires  have  sent 

Far  from  the  land  where  his  first  youth  was  spent; 
i Who,  inly  drooping  on  a foreign  shore, 

' Broods  over  scenes  which  charm  his  eyes  no  more  : 

And  while  his  country’s  ruin  wakes  the  groan, 

Yearns  for  the  buried  hut  he  called  his  own. 

I So  driv’n,  O Poland ! from  thy  ravaged  plains, 

I So  mourning  o’er  thy  sad  and  but  loved  remains, 

! A houseless  wretch,  I wander  through  the  world, 

I From  friends,  from  greatness,  and  from  glory  hurl’d  ! 

' “Oh ! not  that  each  long  night  my  weary  eyes 
I7  Sink  into  sleep,  unlull’d  by  Pity’s  sighs  ; 

' : Not  that  in  bitter  tears  my  bread  is  steep’d — 

i’  . Tears  drawn  by  insults  on  my  sorrows  heap’d; 

• Not  that  my  thoughts  recall  a mother’s  grave — 

1 ' Recall  the  sire  I would  have  died  to  save. 

Who  fell  before  me,  bleeding  on  the  field, 

!,l  Whilst  I in  vain  opposed  the  useless  shield, 

i Ah  ! not  for  these  I grieve  ! Though  mental  woe, 

i More  deadly  still,  scarce  Fancy’s  self  could  know! 

I'  " O’er  want  and  private  griefs  the  soul  can  climb, — 
i Virtue  subdues  the  one,  the  other  Time  : 

' I But  at  his  country’s  fall,  the  patriot  feels 
A grief  no  time,  no  drug,  no  reason  heals. 

: ' '*Mem’ry!  remorseless  murderer,  whose  voice 
Kills  as  it  sounds;  who  never  says.  Rejoice! 
f To  my  deserted  heart,  by  joy  forgot ; 

1. Thou  pale,  thou  midnight  spectre,  haunt  me  not! 

Thou  dost  but  point  to  where  sublimely  stands 
A glorious  temple,  reared  by  Virtue’s  hands, 

Circled  with  palms  and  laurels,  crown’d  with  light, 
j;  Darting  Truth’s  piercing  sun  on  mortal  sight: 

V Then  rushing  on,  leagued  fiends  of  hellish  birth 

Level  the  mighty  fabric  with  the  earth  ! 

Slept  the  red  bolt  of  Vengeance  in  that  hour 
When  virtuous  Freedom  fell  the  slave  of  Power  1 
i f*  Slumber’d  the  God  of  Justice  ! that  no  brand 

1^  Blasted  with  blazing  wing  the  impious  band  ! 

S Dread  God  of  Justice  ! to  thy  will  I kneel, 

P'  Though  still  my  filial  heart  must  bleed  and  feel ; 

Though  still  the  proud  convulsive  throb  will  rise, 
i When  fools  my  country’s  wrongs  and  woes  despise  ; 


268 


TI/ADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


When  low-soul’d  Pomp,  vain  Wealth,  that  Pity  gives, 

Which  Virtue  ne’er  bestows  and  ne’er  receives, — 

That  Pity,  stabbing  where  it  vaunts  to  cure, 

Which  barbs  the  dart  of  Want,  and  makes  it  sure. 

Plow  far  removed  from  what  the  feeling  breast 
Yields  boastless,  breathed  in  sighs  to  the  distress’d  I 
Which  whispers  sympathy,  with  tender  fear, 

And  almost  dreads  to  pour  its  balmy  tear. 

But  such  I know  not  now  ! Unseen,  alone, 

I heave  the  heavy  sigh,  I draw  the  groan ; 

And,  madd’ning,  turn  to  days  of  liveliest  joy, 

When  o’er  my  native  hills  I cast  mine  eyes. 

And  said,  exulting — “ Freemen  here  shall  sow 
The  seed  that  soon  in  tossing  gold  shall  glow ! 

While  Plenty,  led  by  Liberty,  shall  rove, 

Gay  and  rejoicing,  through  the  land  they  love  ; 

And  ’mid  the  loaded  vines,  the  peasant  see 

His  wife,  his  children,  breathing  out, — ‘ We’re  free  ! ’ 

But  now,  O wretched  land  ! above  thy  plains, 

Half  viewless  through  the  gloom,  vast  Horror  reigns, 

No  happy  peasant,  o’er  his  blazing  hearth, 

Devotes  the  supper  hour  to  love  and  mirth  ; 

No  flowers  on  Piety’s  pure  altar  bloom; 

Alas ! they  wither  now,  and  strew  her  tomb ! 

From  the  Great  Book  of  Nations  fiercely  rent. 

My  country’s  page  to  Lethe’s  stream  is  sent — 

But  sent  in  vain ! The  historic  Muse  shall  raise 
O’er  wronged  Sarmatia’s  cause  the-voice  of  praise, — 

Shall  sing  her  dauntless  on  the  field  of  death, 

And  blast  her  royal  robbers’  bloody  wrath ! ” 

It  must  be  Constantine’s  ! ” cried  Euphemia,  in  a voice 
of  surprised  delight,  while  springing  up  to  take  the  paper  out 
of  the  deriding  reader’s  hand  when  he  finished. 

I dare  say  it  is,”  answered  the  ill-natured  Lascelles,  hold- 
ing it  above  his  head.  ‘‘You  shall  have  it;  only  first  let  us 
hear  it  again,  it  is  so  mighty  pretty,  so  very  lackadaisical ! ” 

“ Give  it  to  me  ! ” cried  Euphemia,  quite  angry. 

“ Don’t,  Lascelles,”  exclaimed  Miss  Dundas,  “ the  man 
must  be  a perfect  idiot  to  write  such  rhodomontade.” 

“ O ! it  is  delectable ! ” returned  her  lover,  opening  the 
paper  again  ; “ it  would  make  a charming  ditty  ! Come,  I will 
sing  it.  Shall  it  be  to  the  tune  of  ‘ The  Babes  in  the  Wood/ 
or  ‘ Chevy  Chase,’  or  ‘ The  Beggar  of  Bethnal  Green  ? ” 

“ Pitiless,  senseless  man ! ” exclaimed  Mary,  rising  from 
her  chair,  where  she  had  been  striving  to  subdue  the  emotions 
with  which  every  line  in  the  poem  filled  her  heart. 

“ Monster  ! ” cried  the  enraged  Euphemia,  taking  courage 
at  Miss  Beaufort’s  unusual  warmth  ; “ I will  have  the  paper.” 

“ You  sha’n’t,”  answered  the  malicious  coxcomb  ; and  rais^ 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  269 

ing  his  arm  higher  than  her  reach,  he  tore  it  in  a hundred 
pieces.  ‘‘  I’ll  teach  pretty  ladies  to  call  names  ! ” 

At  this  sight,  no  longer  able  to  contain  herself,  Mary  rushed 
out  of  the  room,  and  hurrying  to  her  chamber,  threw  herself 
upon  the  bed,  where  she  gave  way  to  a paroxysm  of  tears  which 
shook  her  almost  to  suffocation. 

During  the  first  burst  of  her  indignation,  her  agitated  spirit 
breathed  every  appellation  of  abhorrence  and  reproach  on  Las- 
celles  and  his  malignant  mistress.  Then  wiping  her  flowing 
eyes,  she  exclaimed,  ^‘Yet  can  I wonder,  when  I compare 
Constantine  with  what  they  are  ? The  man  who  dares  to  be 
virtuous  beyond  others,  and  to  appear  so,  arms  the  self-love  of 
all  common  characters  against  him.” 

Such  being  her  meditations,  she  excused  herself  from  join- 
ing the  family  at  dinner,  and  it  was  not  until  evening  that  she 
felt  herself  at  all  able  to  treat  the  ill-natured  group  with  decent 
civility. 

To  avoid  spending  more  hours  than  were  absolutely  neces- 
sary in  the  company  of  a woman  she  now  loathed,  next  morn- 
ing Miss  Beaufort  borrowed  Lady  Dundas’s  sedan-chair,  and 
ordering  it  to  Lady  Tinemouth’s,  found  her  at  home  alone,  but 
evidently  much  discomposed. 

I intrude  on  you.  Lady  Tinemouth  ! ” said  Mary,  observ- 
ing her  looks,  and  withdrawing  from  the  offered  seat. 

‘‘  No,  my  dear  Miss  Beaufort,”  replied  she,  “ I am  glad  you 
are  come.  I assure  you  I have  few  pleasures  in  solitude.  Read 
that  letter,”  added  she,  putting  one  into  her  hand:  “it  has 
just  conveyed  one  of  the  cruelest  stabs  ever  offered  by  a son 
to  the  heart  of  his  mother.  Read  it,  and  you  will  not  be  sur- 
prised at  finding  me  in  the  state  you  see.” 

The  countess  looked  on  her  almost  paralyzed  hands  as  she 
spoke ; and  Miss  Beaufort  taking  the  paper,  sat  down  and  read 
to  herself  the  following  letter : 


“ To  THE  Right  Honorable  the  Countess  of  Tinemouth. 

“ Madam, 

“ I am  commissioned  by  the  earl,  my  father,  to  inform  you 
that  if  you  have  lost  all  regard  for  your  own  character,  he  con- 
siders that  some  respect  is  due  to  the  mother  of  his  children  ; 
therefore  he  watches  your  conduct. 

“■He  has  been  apprized  of  your  frequent  meetings,  during 
: these  many  months  past,  in  Grosvenor  Place,  and  at  other  peo- 
ple’s houses,  with  an  obscure  foreigner,  your  declared  lover. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


The  earl  wished  to  suppose  this  false,  until  your  shameless  be 
havior  became  so  flagrant,  that  he  esteems  it  worthy  neither  of 
doubt  nor  indulgence. 

With  his  own  eyes  he  saw  you  four  nights  ago  alone  with 
this  man  in  Hyde  Park.  Such  demonstration  is  dreadful. 
Your  proceedings  are  abominable;  and  if  you  do  not,  without 
further  parley,  set  off  either  to  Craighall,  in  Cornwall,  or  to  the 
Wolds,  you  shall  receive  a letter  from  my  sister  as  well  as  my- 
self, to  tell  the  dishonored  Lady  Tinemouth  how  much  she 
merits  her  daughter’s  contempt,  added  to  that  of  her  brother 

“ Harwold.” 

Mary  was  indeed  heart-struck  at  the  contents  of  this  letter, 
but  most  especially  at  the  accusation  which  so  distinctly  pointed 
out  the  innocent  object  of  her  already-  doubly-excited  pity. 

Oh  ! why  these  persecutions,”  cried  her  inward  soul  to  hea- 
ven, “against  an  apparently  obscure  but  noble,  friendless  stran- 
ger ? ” Unable  to  collect  her  thoughts  to  make  any  proper  re- 
marks whatever  on  the  letter  to  Lady  Tinemouth,  she  hastily 
exclaimed,  “ It  is  indeed  horrible  ; and  what  do  you  mean  to 
do,  my  honored  friend  ? ” 

“ I will  obey  my  lord  ! ” returned  the  countess,  with  a 
meek  but  firm  emphasis.  “ My  last  action  will  be  in  obedience 
to  his  will.  I cannot  live  long  ; and  when  I am  dead,  perhaps 
the  earl’s  vigilance  may  be  satisfied  ; perhaps  some  kind  friend 
may  then  plead  my  cause  to  my  daughter’s  heart.  One  cruel 
line  from  her  would  kill  me.  I will  at  least  avoid  the  comple- 
tion of  that  threat,  by  leaving  town  to-morrow  night.” 

“ What ! so  soon  1 But  I hope  not  so  far  as  Cornwall  ? ” 

“ No,”  replied  her  ladyship  ; “ Craighall  is  too  near  Ply- 
mouth; I determine  on  the  Wolds.  Yet  why  should  I have  a 
choice  ? It  is  almost  a matter  of  indifference  to  what  spot  I 
am  banished — in  what  place  I am  to  die ; anywhere  to  which 
my  earthly  lord  would  send  me,  I shall  be  equally  remote  from 
the  sympathy  of  a friend.” 

Miss  Beaufort’s  heart  was  oppressed  when  she  entered  the 
room  ! Lady  Tinemouth’s  sorrows  seemed  to  give  her  a license 
to  weep.  She  took  her  ladyship’s  hand,  and  with  difficulty 
sobbed  out  this  inarticulate  proposal  : — “Take  me  with  you, 
dear  Lady  Tinemouth  ! I am  sure  my  guardian  will  be  happy 
to  permit  me  to  be  with  you,  where  and  how  long  you  please.” 

“ My  dear  young  friend,”  replied  the  countess,  kissing  her 
tearful  cheek,  “ I thank  you  from  my  heart ; but  I cannot  take; 
so  ungenerous  an  advantage  of  your  goodness  as  to  consign 


THADDEUS  of  WARSAW. 


571 

your  tender  nature  to  the  harassing  task  of  attending  on  sorrow 
and  sickness.  How  strangely  different  may  even  amiable  dis- 
positions be  tempered ! Sophia  Egerton  is  better  framed  for 
such  an  office.  Kind  as  she  is,  the  hilarity  of  her  disposition 
does  not  allow  the  sympathy  she  bestows  on  others  to  injure 
either  her  mind  or  her  body.” 

Mary  interrupted  her.  Ah  ! I should  be  grieved  to  believe 
that  my  very  aptitude  to  serve  my  friends  will  prove  the  first 
reason  why  I should  be  denied  the  duty.  It  is  only  in  scenes 
of  affliction  that  friendship  can  be  tried,  and  declare  its  truth. 
If  Miss  Egerton  were  not  going  with  you,  I should  certainly 
insist  on  putting  my  affection  to  the  ordeal.^ 

“You  mistake,  my  sweet  friend,”  returned  her  ladyship; 

Sophia  is  forbidden  to  remain  any  longer  with  me.  You  have 
overlooked  the  postscript  to  Lord  Harwold’s  letter,  else  you 
must  have  seen  the  whole  of  my  cruel  situation.  Turn  over 
the  leaf.” 

Miss  Beaufort  re-opened  the  sheet,  and  read  the  following 
few  lines,  which,  being  written  on  the  interior  part  of  the  paper, 
had  before  escaped  her  sight : — 

“ Go  where  you  will,  it  is  our  special  injunction  that  you 
leave  Miss  Egerton  behind  you.  She,  we  hear,  has  been  the 
ambassadress  in  this  intrigue.  If  we  learn  that  you  disobey,  it 
shall  be  worse  for  you  in  every  respect,  as  it  will  convince  us, 
beyond  a possibility  of  doubt,  how  uniform  is  the  turpitude  of 
your  conduct.” 

Lady  Tinemouth  grasped  Miss  Beaufort’s  hand  when  she 
laid  the  matricidal  letter  back  upon  the  table.  “ And  that  is 
from  the  son  for  whom  I felt  all  a mother’s  throes — all  a 
mother’s  love  ! — Had  he  died  the  first  hour  in  which  he  saw 
the  light,  what  a mass  of  guilt  might  he  not  have  escaped  ! It 
is  he,”  added  she,  in  a lower  voice,  and  looking  wildly  round, 
“ that  breaks  my  heart.  I could  have  borne  his  father’s  perfidy  ; 
^but  insult,  oppression,  from  my  child  ! Oh,  Mary,  may  you 
never  know  its  bitterness  ! ” 

Miss  Beaufort  could  only  answer  with  her  tears, 
i After  a pause  of  many  minutes,  in  which  the  countess  strove 
f'to  tranquillize  her  spirits,  she  resumed  in  a more  composed 
v’oice. 

^ “ Excuse  me  for  an  instant,  my  dear  Miss  Beaufort;  I must 
write  to  Mr.  Constantine.  I have  yet  to  inform  him  that  my 
absence  is  to  be  added  to  his  other  misfortunes.” 

With  her  eyes  now  raining  down  upon  the  paper,  she  took 
Jp  a pen,  and  hastily  writing  a few  lines  was  sealing  them 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


272 

when  Mary,  looking  up,  hardly  conscious  of  the  words  which 
escaped  her,  said,  with  inarticulate  anxiety,  Lady  Tinemouth,  | 
you  know  much  of  that  noble  and  unhappy  young  man  ? ” Her 
eyes  irresolute  and  her  cheek  glowing,  she  awaited  the  answer  of  ! 
the  countess,  who  continued  to  gaze  on  the  letter  she  held  in 
her  hand,  as  if  in  profound  thought ; then  all  at  once  raising  her 
head,  and  regarding  the  now  downcast  face  of  her  lovely  friend 
with  tenderness,  she  replied,  in  a tone  which  conveyed  the  deep 
interest  of  her  thoughts  : — 

‘‘  I do.  Miss  Beaufort ; but  he  has  reposed  his  griefs  in  my 
friendship  and  honor,  therefore  I must  hold  them  sacred/^ 

I will  not  ask  you  to  betray  them,”  returned  Mary,  in  a 
faltering  voice  ; “ yet  I cannot  help  lamenting  his  sufferings,  i 
and  esteeming  the  fortitude  with  which  he  supports  his  fall.” 

The  countess  looked  steadfastly  on  her^  fluctuating  counte- 
nance. “ Has  Constantine,  my  dear  girl,  hinted  to  you  that  he  ; 
ever  was  otherwise  than  as  he  now  appears  ? ” 

Miss  Beaufort  could  not  reply.  She  would  not  trust  her  | 
lips  with  words,  but  shook  her  head  in  sign  that  he  had  not.  | 
Lady  Tinemouth  was  too  well  read  in  the  human  heart  to  doubt  i 
for  an  instant  the  cause  of  her  question,  and  consequent  emo-, 
tion.  Feeling  that  something  was  due  to  an  anxiety  so  disin- 
terested, she  took  her  passive  hand,  and  said,  “ Mary,  you  have 
guessed  rightly.  Though  I am  not  authorized  to  tell  you  the 
real  name  of  Mr.  Constantine,  nor  the  particulars  of  his  history,  | 
yet  let  this  satisfy  your  generous  heart,  that  it  can  never  be| 
more  honorably  employed  than  in  compassionating  calamities 
which  ought  to  wreath  his  young  brows  with  glory.” 

Miss  Beaufort’s  eyes  streamed  afresh,  whilst  her  exulting, 
soul  seemed  ready  to  rush  from  her  bosom.  i 

“ Mary  ! ” continued  the  countess,  warmed  by  the  recollec- 
tion of  his  excellence,  ^‘you  have  no  need  to  blush  at  the  in- 
terest which  you  take  in  this  amiable  stranger  ! Every  trial  of 
spirit  which  could  have  tortured  youth  or  manhood  has  been 
endured  by  him  with  the  firmness  of  a hero.  Ah,  my  sweet 
friend,”  added  the  countess,  pressing  the  hand  of  the  confused 
Miss  Beaufort,  who,  ashamed,  and  conscious  that  her  behavion 
betrayed  how  dearly  she  considered  him,  had  covered  her  face] 
with  her  handkerchief,  when  you  are  disposed  to  believe  that 
a man  is  as  great  as  his  titles  and  personal  demands  seem  toi 
assert,  examine  with  a nice  observance  whether  his  pretensions 
be  real  or  artificial.  Imagine  him  disrobed  of  splendor  and 
struggling  with  the  world’s  inclemencies.  If  his  chaiactel 
cannot  stand  this  "ordeal,  he  is  only  a vain  pageant,  inflated 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  IF. 


273 


and  garnished  ; and  it  is  reasonable  to  punish  such  arrogance 
with  contempt  But  on  the  contrary,  4en,  like  ConstaSe 
e rises  from  the  ashes  of  his  fortunes  in  a brighter  blaze  of 
virtue,  then,  dearest  girl,”  cried  the  countess,  encircling  hS 

Tnlp  n the  sweetfest  privilege  of  loveliness  to  con- 

sole  and  bless  so  rare  a being.’’ 

Mary  raised  her  weeping  face  from  the  bosom  of  her  friend 
and  clasping  her  hands  together  with  trepidation  and  anguish’ 
implored  her  to  be  as  faithful  to  her  secret  as  she  had  proved 
Constantine’s.  “I  would  sooner  die,”  added  she, 
T IfrU  rashness,  perhaps  my  indelicacy ! 

that  T esteem  Lady  Tinemouth ! Let  him  suppoL 

that  I only  him  ! More  I should  shrink  from.  I Lve 

them  ^tollfvrr^  some  of  my  sex;  and  to  be  classed  with 
r . ra  , affection  is  like  theirs  >— 

f couM  not  bear  it.  I entreat  you,  let  him  respect  me  ! ” 

fort  uterarfSr-^’  despair,  with  which  Miss  Beau- 

r ^ incoherent  sentences  penetrated  the  soul  of 

,Lady  Tinemouth  with  admiration.  How  different  was  the 
' >pirit  of  this  pure  and  dignified  love  to  the  wild  passion  she  had 
frame  of  Lady  Sara  Ross. 

Jney  remained  silent  for  some  time. 

asked  Mary,  draw- 


^ (C  ’X/r"  T ' ovynjv.  LIIIJC:. 

May  I see  your  ladyship  to-morrow.?  ” 
ng  her  cloak  about  her. 

'norri'mS”. 

hat^she  trembled  so 

hat  she  could  hardly  stand.  Lady  Tinemouth  put  her  arm 

|ound  her  waist,  and  kissing  her  forehead,  added,  “Heaven 

May  all  the  wishes  of’yourinno- 

n hisL^rthen  door.  Mary  hesitated 

n instant,  then  flinging  her  snowy  arms  over  her  ladyship’s 

eck,  m a voice  scarcely  audible,  articulated,  “ Only  tell  me 
oes  he  love  Euphemia  ? ” > > 

strained  her  to  her  breast.  “No,  my 

' iv  anrlfihc’  from  what  I have  heard  him 

■ 1 w did  he  dare  to  love  any  one 

■ m would  be  the  object  of  his  choice.”  ^ ’ 

j How  Miss  Beaufort  got  into  Lady  Dundas’s  sedan-chair  she 

i4nrscrne°  absorbed  in  the 

i le  Srivern;  w ^ perplexed,  her  heart  ached  ; and 

!.Kr  V so  "luoh  disordered  and  unwell  as 

• obhnre  her  to  retWf>  i iiu  uuweii  as 


...  1 ijiuuii  uisorcierea  and  unwe  1 as 

; oblige  her  to  retire  immediately  to  her  room,  with  the  excuse 
! a violent  pain  in  her  head.  ’ 


274 


TBADDEVS  OF  WARSA  W. 


CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

PASSION  AND  PRINCIPLE. 

This  interview  induced  Lady  Tinemouth  to  destroy  the  note 
she  had  written  to  Thaddeus,  and  to  frame  another,  better  cal- 
culated to  produce  comfort  to  all  parties.  What  she  had  de- 
clared to  Mary  respecting  the  state  of  the  count’s  affections 
was  sincere. 

She  had  early  pierced  the  veil  of  bashfulness  with  which 
Miss  Beaufort  overshadowed,  when  in  his  presence,  that  coun- 
tenance so  usually  the  tablet  of  her  soul.  The  countess  easily 
translated  the  quick  receding  of  her  eye  whenever  Thaddeus 
turned  his  attention  towards  her,  the  confused  reply  that  fol- 
lowed any  unexpected  question  from  his  lips,  and,  above  all, 
the  unheeded  sighs  heaved  by  her  when  he  left  the  room,  or 
when  his  name  was  mentioned  during  his  absence.  These 
symptoms  too  truly  revealed  to  Lady  Tinemouth  the  state  of 
her  young  friend’s  bosom. 

But  the  circumstances  being  different,  her  observations  on 
Thaddeus  were  not  nearly  so  conclusive.  Mary  had  absolutely 
given  the  empire  of  her  happiness,  with  her  heart,  into  his 
hands.  Thaddeus  felt  that  his  ruined  hopes  ought  to  prevent 
him  laying  his  at  her  feet,  could  he  even  be  made  to  believe 
that  he  had  found  any  favor  in  her  sight ! and  regarding  her  as 
a being  beyond  his  reach,  he  conceived  no  suspicions  that  she 
entertained  one  dearer  thought  of  him  than  what  mere  philan- 
thropy could  authorize. 

He  contemplated  her  unequalled  beauty,  graces,  talents  and 
virtues  with  an  admiration  bordering  on  idolatry  ! yet  his  heart 
flew  from  the  confession  that  he  loved  her ; and  it  was  not  until 
reason  demanded  of  his  sincerity  why  he  felt  a pang  on  seeing 
Mary’s  purse  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Lascelles,  that  with  a glowing 
cheek  he  owned  to  himself  that  he  was  jealous : that  although 
he  had  not  presumed  to  elevate  one  wish  towards  the  posses- 
sion of  Miss  Beaufort,  yet  when  Lascelles  flaunted  her  name 
on  his  tongue,  he  found  how  deep  would  be  the  wound  in  his 
peace  should  she  ever  give  her  hand  to  another  than  himself ! 

Confounded  at  this  discovery  of  a passion  the  seeds  of  which 
he  supposed  had  been  crushed  by  the  weight  of  his  misfortunes 
and  the  depths  of  his  griefs,  he  proceeded  homewards  in  a 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


27s 

t trance  of  thought,  not  far  differing  from  that  of  the  dreamer 
who  sinks  into  a harassing  slumber,  and,  filled  with  terror, 
doubts  whether  he  be  slee^Ding  or  awake. 

1 he  sudden  illness  of  General  Butzou  having  put  these  ideas 
to  flight,  riiaddeus  was  sitting  on  the  bedside,  with  his  anxious 
thoughts  fixed  on  the  pale  spectacle  of  mortality  before  him, 
when  Nanny  brought  in  a letter  from  the  countess.  He  took 
it,  and  going  to  the  window,  read  with  mingled  feelings  the  fol- 
lowing epistle : — 

Mr.  Constantine. 

I know  not,  my  dear  count,  when  I shall  be  permitted  to 
see  you  again  : perhaps  never  on  this  side  of  the  grave  ! 

^ ‘‘Since  Heaven  has  denied  me  the  tenderness  of  my  own 
i children,  it  would  have  been  a comfort  to  me  might  I have  con- 
tinued to  act  a parent’s  part  by  you.  But  my  cruel  lord,  and 
my  more  cruel  son,  jealous  of  the  consolation  I meet  in  the 
society  of  my  few  intimate  friends,  command  me  to  quit  Lon- 
don ; and  as  I have  ever  made  it  a rule  to  conform  to  their  in- 
junctions to  the  furthest  extent  of  my  power,  I shall  go. 

“ It  pierces  me  to  the  soul,  my  dear  son  ! (allow  my  mater- 
nal heart  to  call  you  by  that  name)  it  distresses  me  deeply  that 
I am  compelled  to  leave  the  place  where  you  are,  and  the  more 
that  I cannot  see  you  before  my  departure,  for  I quit  town  early 
to-morrow. 

“ Write  to  me  often,  my  loved  Sobieski ; your  letters  will  be 
some  alleviation  to  my  lot  during  the  fulfilment  of  my  hard 
duty. 

“Wear  the  enclosed  gold  chain  for  my  sake  ; it  is  one  of 
two  given  me  a long  time  ago  by  Miss  Beaufort.  If  I have 
not  greatly  mistaken  you,  the  present  will  now  possess  a double 
value  in  your  estimation  : indeed  it  ought.  Sensibility  and 
thankfulness  being  properties  of  your  nature,  they  will  not  deny 
a lively  gratitude  to  the  generous  interest  with  which  that 
amiable  and  noble  young  woman  regards  your  fate.  It  is  im- 
possible that  the  avowed  Count  Sobieski  (whom,  a year  ago,  I 
remember  her  animated  fancy  painted  in  colors  worthy  of  his 
.actions)  could  excite  more  of  her  esteem  than  I know  she  has 
aestowed  on  the  untitled  Constantine. 

“ She  is  all  nobleness  and  affection.  For,  although  I am 
>ensible  that  she  would  leave  much  behind  her  in  London  to 
;'egret,  she  insists  on  accompanying  me  to  the  Wolds.  Averse 
;o  transgress  so  far  on  her  goodness,  I firmly  refused  her  offer 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


276 

until  this  evening,  when  I received  so  warm  and  urgent  a letter 
from  her  disinterested,  generous  heart,  that  I could  no  longer 
withhold  my  grateful  assent. 

‘‘  Indeed,  this  lovely  creature^s  active  friendship  proves  of 
high  consequence  to  me  now,  situated  as  I am  with  regard  to  a 
new  whim  of  the  earhs.  Had  she  not  thus  urged  me,  in  obe- 
dience to  my  lord’s  commands  I should  have  been  obliged  to 
go  alone,  he  having  taken  some  wild  antipathy  to  Miss  Egerton, 
whose  company  he  has  interdicted.  At  any  rate,  her  parents 
would  not  have  allowed  me  her  society  much  longer,  for  Mr. 
Montresor  is  to  return  this  month. 

I shall  not  be  easy,  my  dear  count,  until  I hear  from  you. 
Pray  write  soon,  and  inform  me  of  every  particular  respecting 
the  poor  general.  Is  he  likely  to  recover 

‘‘  In  all  things,  my  loved  son,  in  which  I can  serve  you,  re- 
member that  I expect  you  will  refer  yourself  to  me  as  to  a 
mother.  Your  own  could  hardly  have  regarded  you  with  deeper 
tenderness  than  does  your  affectionate  and  faithful 

“ Adeliza  Tinemouth. 

‘‘  Grosvenor  Place,  Thursday^  inid7tight, 

“ Direct  to  me  at  Harwold  Place,  Wolds,  Lincolnshire.” 

Several  opposite  emotions  agitated  the  mind  of  Thaddeus 
whilst  reading  this  epistle, — increased  abhorrence  of  the  man 
whom  he  believed  to  be  his  father,  and  distress  at  the  increase 
of  his  cruelty  to  his  unhappy  wife  ! Yet  these  could  neither 
subdue  the  balmy  effect  of  her  maternal  affection  towards  him- 
self nor  wholly  check  the  emotion  which  the  unusual  men- 
tioning of  Miss  Beaufort’s  name  had  caused  his  heart  to  throb. 
He  read  the  sentence  which  contained  the  assurance  of  her 
esteem  a third  time. 

“ Delicious  poison  ! ” cried  he,  kissing  the  paper  ; ‘‘  if  ador- 
ing thee,  lovely  Mary,  be  added  to  my  other  trials,  I shall  be 
resigned  ! There  is  sweetness  even  in  the  thought.  Could  I 
credit  all  which  my  dear  lady  Tinemouth  affirms,  the  conviction 
that  I possess  one  kind  solicitude  in  the  mind  of  Miss  Beaufort 
would  be  ample  compensation  for ” 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  sighing  profoundly,  rose 
from  his  chair. 

“ For  anything,  except  beholding  her  the  bride  of  another ! ” 
was  the  sentiment  with  which  his  heart  swelled.  Thaddeus  had 
never  known  a selfish  wish  in  his  life  ; and  this  first  instance 
of  his  desiring  that  good  to  be  unappropriated  which  he  might 
not  himself  enjoy,  made  him  start. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 


2^^ 


There  is  an  evil  in  my  breast. I wotted  not  of!  ’’  Dissatis- 
fied with  himself  at  this,  he  was  preparing  to  answer  her  lady- 
ship’s letter,  when  turning  to  the  date,  he  discovered  that  it  had 
been  written  oh  Thursday  night,  and  in  consequence  of  Nanny’s 
neglect  in  not  calling  at  the  coffee-house,  had  been  delayed 
a day  and  a half  before  it  reached  him. 

His  disappointment  at  this  accident  was  severe.  She  was 
gone,  and  Miss  Beaufort  along  with  her. 

“ Then,  indeed,  I am  unfortunate.  Yet  this  treasure  ! ” 
cried  he,  fondly  clasping  the  separated  bracelet  in  his  hand ; 
“ it  will,  indeed,  be  a representative  of  both — honored,  beloved 
— to  this  deserted  heart ! ” 

He  put  the  chain  round  his  neck,  and,  with  a true  lover-like 
feeling,  thought  that  it  warmed  the  heart  which  mortification 
had  chilled ; but  the  fancy  was  evanescent,  and  he  again  turned 
to  watch  the  fading  life  of  his  friend. 

During  the  lapse  of  a few  days,  in  which  the  general 
appeared  merely  to  breathe,  Thaddeus,  instead  of  his  attend- 
ance, despatched  regu’lar  notes  of  excuse  to  Harley  Street.  In 
answer  to  these,  he  commonly  received  little  tender  billets  from 
Euphemia,  the  strain  of  which  he  seemed  totally  to  overlook, 
by  the  cold  respect  he  evinced  in  his  continued  diurnal  apolo- 
gies for  absence. 

This  young  lady  was  so  full  of  her  own  lamentations  over 
the  trouble  which  her  elegant  tutor  must  endure  in  watching  his 
sick  friend,  that  she  never  thought  it  worth  while  to  mention  in 
her  notes  any  creature  in  the  house  excepting  herself,  and  her 
commiseration.  Thaddeus  longed  to  inquire  about  Miss  Beau- 
fort ; but  the  more  he  wished  it,  the  greater  was  his  reluctance 
to  write  her  name. 

Things  were  in  this  situation,  when  one  evening,  as  he  was 
reading  by  the  light  of  a solitary  candle  in  his  little  sitting-room, 
the  door  opened,  and  Nanny  stepped  in,  followed  by  a female 
wrapped  in  a large  black  cloak.  Thaddeus  rose. 

“ A lady,  sir,”  said  Nanny,  curtseying. 

The  moment  the  girl  withdrew,  the  visitor  cast  herself  into  a 
chair,  and  sobbing  aloud,  seemed  in  violent  agitation.  Thad- 
deus, astonished  and  alarmed,  approached  her,  and,  though  she 
was  unknown,  offered  her  every  assistance  in  his  power. 

Catching  hold  of  the  hand  which,  with  the  greatest  respect, 
he  extended  towards  her,  she  instantly  displayed  to  his  dismayed 
sight  the  features  of  Lady  Sara  Ross. 

“ Merciful  Heaven  1 ” exclaimed  he,  involuntarily  starting 
back. 


THADDEUS  OF  IVARSAW. 


278 


‘‘  Do  not  cast  me  off,  Constantine ! ” cried  she,  clasping  his 
arm,  and  looking  up  to  him  with  a face  of  anguish  ; “ on  you 
alone  I now  depend  for  happiness — for  existence  ! 

A cold  damp  stood  on  the  forehead  of  her  auditor. 

“ Dear  Lady  Sara,  what  am  I to  understand  by  this  emotion  ; 
has  anything  dreadful  happened  ? Is  Captain  Ross ” 

Lady  Sara  shuddered,  and  still  grasping  his  hand,  answered 
with  words  every  one  of  which  palsied  the  heart  of  Thaddeus. 

He  is  coming  home.  He  is  now  at  Portsmouth.  O,  Con- 
stantine ! I am  not  yet  so  debased  as  to  live  with  him  when  my 
heart  is  yours.” 

At  this  shameful  declaration,  Thaddeus  clenched  his  teeth 
in  agony  of  spirit ; and  placing  his  hand  upon  his  eyes,  to  shut 
her  from  his  sight,  he  turned  suddenly  round  and  walked 
towards  another  part  of  the  room. 

Lady  Sara  followed  him.  Her  cloak  having  fallen  off,  now 
displayed  her  fine  form  in  all  the  fervor  of  grief  and  distraction. 
She  rung  her  fair  and  jewelled  arms  in  despair,  and  with  accents 
rendered  more  piercing  by  the  anguish  of  her  mind,  exclaimed, 
“ What ! You  hate  me  ? You  throw  me  from  you  1 Cruel,  bar- 
barous Constantine  ! Can  you  drive  from  your  feet  the  woman 
who  adores  you  ? Can  you  cast  her  who  is  without  a home  into 
the  streets  ? ” 

Thaddeus  felt  his  hand  wet  with  her  tears.  He  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  her  with  almost  delirious  horror.  Her  hat  being  off,  gave 
freedom  to  her  long  black  hair,  which,  falling  in  masses  over  her 
figure  and  face,  gave  such  additional  wildness  to  the  imploring 
and  frantic  expression  of  her  eyes,  that  his  distracted  soul  felt 
reeling  within  him. 

Rise,  madam  ! For  Heaven’s  sake,  Lady  Sara  ! ” and  he 
stooped  to  raise  her. 

Never!”  cried  she,  clinging  to  him — “never!  till  you 
promise  to  protect  me.  My  husband  comes  home  to-night,  and 
I have  left  his  house  forever.  You — you!  ” exclaimed  she,  ex- 
tending her  hand  to  his  averted  face  ; “ Oh,  Constantine  ! you 
have  robbed  me  of  my  peace  ! On  your  account  I have  flown 
from  my  home.  For  mercy’s  sake,  do  not  abandon  me  ! ” 

“ Lady  Sara,”  cried  he,  looking  in  desperation  around  him, 
“ I cannot  speak  to  you  in  this  position  ! Rise,  I implore  you  ! ” 

“Only,”  returned  she,  “ only  say  that  you  will  protect  me  ! 
— that  I shall  find  shelter  here  ! Say  this,  and  I will  rise  and 
bless  you  forever.” 

Thaddeus  stood  aghast,  not  knowing  how  to  reply.  Terror- 
struck  at  the  violent  lengths  to  which  she  seemed  determined 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


279 

to  carry  her  unhappy  and  guilty  passion,  he  in  vain  sought  to 
evade  this  direct  demand.  Lady  Sara,  perceiving  the  reluctance 
and  horror  of  his  looks,  sprang  from  her  knees,  while  in  a more 
resolute  voice  she  exclaimed,  Then,  sir,  you  will  not  protect 
me  ? You  scorn  and  desert  a woman  whom  you  well  know  has 
long  loved  you? — whom,  by  your  artful  behavior,  you  have 
seduced  to  this  disgrace  ! ” 

The  count,  surprised  and  shockeid  at  this  accusation,  with 
gentleness,  but  resolution,  denied  the  charge. 

Lady  Sara  again  melted  into  tears,  and  supporting  her  tot- 
tering frame  against  his  shoulder,  replied,  in  a stifled  voice,  ‘‘  I 
know  it  well  : I have  nothing  to  blame  for  my  wretched  state 
but  my  own  weakness.  Pardon,  dear  Constantine,  the  dictates 
of  my  madness  ! Oh  ! I would  gladly  owe  such  misery  to  any 
other  source  than  myself  ! ” 

Then,  respected  lady,’’  rejoined  Thaddeus,  gaining  cour- 
age from  the  mildness  of  her  manner,  let  me  implore  you  to 
return  to  your  own  house  ! ” 

“ Don’t  ask  me,”  cried  she,  grasping  his  hand.  ‘‘  O,  Con- 
stantine ! if  you  knew  what  it  was  to  receive  with  smiles  of  af- 
fection a creature  whom  you  loathe,  you  would  shrink  with  dis- 
gust from  what  you  require.  I detest  Captain  Ross.  Can  I 
open  my  arms  to  meet  him,  when  my  heart  excludes  him  for- 
ever ? Can  I welcome  him  home  when  I wish  him  in  his  grave  ? ” 

Sobieski  extricated  his  hand  from  her  grasp.  Her  ladyship 
perceived  the  repugnance  which  dictated  this  action,  and  with 
renewed  violence  ejaculated,  “Unhappy  woman  that  I am!  to 
hate  where  I am  loved  1 to  love  where  I am  hated  ! Kill  me, 
Constantine  1 ” cried  she,  turning  suddenly  towards  him,  and 
sinking  down  on  a chair,  “but  do  not  give  me  such  another  look 
as  that ! ” 

“ Dear  Lady  Sara,”  replied  he,  seating  himself  by  her  side, 
“ what  would  you  have  me  do  ? You  see  that  I have  no  proper 
means  of  protecting  you.  I have  no  relations,  no  friends  to  re- 
ceive yoUc  You  see  that  I am  a poor  man.  Besides,  your  char- 
acter  ” 

“ Talk  not  of  my  character  I ” cried  she  : “ I will  have  none 
that  does  not  depend  on  you  I Cruel  Constantine  ! you  will  not 
understand  me.  I want  no  riches,  no  friends,  but  yourself. 
Give  me  yotir  home,  dmd  your  arms,”  added  she,  throwing  her- 
self in  an  agony  on  his  bosom,  “ and  beggary  would  be  paradise ! 
But  I shall  not  bring  you  poverty ; I have  inherited  a fortune 
since  I married  Ross,  on  which  he  has  no  claim.” 

Thaddeus  now  shrunk  doubly  from  her.  Why  had  she  not 


28o 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


felt  a sacred  spell  in  that  husband’s  name  ? He  shuddered, 
and  tore  himself  from  her  clinging  arms.  Holding  her  oif  with 
his  hand,  he  exclaimed,  in  a voice  of  mental  agony,  “ Infatuated 
woman  ! leave  me,  for  his  honor  and  your  own  peace.’’ 

“ No,  no !”  cried  she,  hoping  she  had  gained  some  advaiv 
tage  over  his  agitated  feelings,  and  again  casting  herself  at  his 
feet,  exclaimed,  “ Never  will  I leave  this  spot  till  you  consent 
that  your  home  shall  be  my  home ; that  I shall  serve  you  for- 
ever ! ” 

Thaddeus  pressed  his  hands  upon  his  eyes,  as  if  he  would 
shut  her  from  his  sight.  But  with  streaming  tears  she  added, 
while  clasping  his  other  hand  to  her  throbbing  bosom,  ‘‘  Exclude 
me  not  from  those  dear  eyes  1 reject  me  not  from  being  your 
true  wife,  your  willing  slave  ! ” 

Thaddeus  heard  this,  but  he  did  not  look  on  her,  neither 
did  he  answer.  He  broke  from  her,  and  fled,  in  a stupor  of 
horror  at  his  situation,  into  the  apartment  where  the  general  lay 
in  a heavy  sleep. 

Little  expecting  to  see  any  one  but  the  man  she  loved.  Lady 
Sara  rushed  in  after  him,  and  was  again  wildly  pressing  towards 
her  determined  victim,  when  her  eyes  were  suddenly  arrested 
by  a livid,  and,  she  thought,  dead  face  of  a person  lying  on  the 
bed.  Fixed  to  the  spot,  she  stpod  for  a moment ; then  putting 
her  spread  hand  on  her  forehead,  uttered  a faint  cry,  and  fell 
soul-struck  to  the  floor. 

Having  instant  conviction  of  her  mistake,  Thaddeus  eagerly 
seized  the  moment  of  her  insensibility  to  convey  her  home.  He 
hastily  went  to  the  top  of  the  stairs,  called  to  Nanny  to  run  for 
a coach,  and  then  returning  to  the  extended  figure  of  Lady  Sara, 
lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  back  to  the  room  they  had 
left. 

By  the  help  of  a little  water,  he  restored  her  to  a sense  of 
existence.  She  slowly  opened  her  eyes  ; then  raising  her  head, 
looked  round  with  a terrified  air,  when  her  eye  falling  on  the 
still  open  door  of  thegener?’'  room,  she  caught  Thaddeus  by 
the  arm,  and  said,  in  a Laddering  voice,  “ Oh  ! take  me  hence.’' 

Whilst  she  yet  spoke,  the  coach  stopped  at  the  door.  The 
count  rose,  and  attempted  to  support  her  agitated  frame  on  his 
arm ; but  she  trembled  so,  he  was  obliged  to  almost  carry  her 
down  stairs. 

When  he  placed  her  in  the  carriage,  she  said,  in  a faint 
tone,  “ You  surely  will  not  leave  me  ? ” 

Thaddeus  made  no  reply  ; then  desiring  Nanny  to  sit  by 
the  general  until  his  return,  which  should  be  in  a few  minutes, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


281 


and  having  stepped  into  the  coach,  Lady  Sara  snatched  his 
hand,  while  in  dismayed  accents  she  quickly  said. 

Who  was  that  fearful  person  ? ’’ 

‘‘  Alas ! the  revered  friend  whose  long  illness  Lady  Tine- 
mouth  has  sometimes  mentioned  in  your  presence.’’ 

Lady  Sara  shuddered  again,  but  with  a rush  of  tears,  while 
she  added  imploringly,  ‘‘  Then,  whither  are  you  going  to  take 
me?” 

“You  shall  again,  dear  Lady  Sara,”  replied  he,  “return  to 
a guiltless  and  peaceful  home.” 

“ I cannot  meet  my  husband,”  cried  she,  wringing  her  hands  ; 
“ he  will  see  all  my  premeditated  guilt  in  my  countenance.  O ! 
Constantine,  have  pity  on  me  1 Miserable  creature  that  I am  ! 
It  is  horrible  to  live  without  you!  It  is  dreadful  to  live  with  him  1 
Take  me  not  home,  I entreat  you  ! ” 

The  count  took  her  clasped  hands  in  his,  saying, 

“ Reflect  for  a moment.  Lady  Tinemouth’s  eulogiums  on 
our  first  acquaintance  taught  me  to  honor  you.  I believe  that 
when  you  distinguished  me  with  any  portion  of  your  regard,  it 
was  in  consequence  of  virtues  which  you  thought  I possessed.” 

“ Indeed,  you  do  me  justice  1 ” cried  she,  with  renewed 
energy. 

He  continued,  feeling  that  he  must  be  stern  in  words  as 
well  as  in  purpose  if  he  would  really  rescue  her  from  herself. 
“ Think,  then,  should  I yield  to  the  influence  of  your  beauty, 
and  sink  your  respected  name  to  a level  with  those  ” — and  he 
pointed  to  a group  of  wretched  women  assembled  at  the  corner 
of  Pall-Mall.  “ Think,  where  would  be  the  price  of  your  inno- 
cence ? I being  no  longer  worthy  of  your  esteem,  you  would 
hate  yourself ; and  we  should  continue  together,  two  guilty 
creatures,  abhorring  each  other,  and  justly  despised  by  a vir- 
tuous world.” 

Lady  Sara  sat  as  one  dumb,  and  did  not  inarticulate  any 
sound — except  the  groan  of  horror  which  had  shot  through  her 
when"she  had  glanced  at  those  women — until  the  coach  stopped 
in  James’s  Place. 

“ Go  in  with  me,”  were  all  the  words  she  could  utter,  while, 
pulling  her  veil  over  her  face,  she  gave  him  her  hand  to  assist 
her  down  the  steps. 

“ Is  Captain  Ross  arrived  ? ” asked  Thaddeus  of  a servant, 
who,  to  his  great  joy,  replied  in  the  negative.  During  the  drive, 
he  had  alarmed  himself  by  anticipating  the  disagreeable  sus- 
picions which  might  rise  in  the  mind  of  the  husband  should  he 
see  his  wife  in  her  present  strange  and  distracted  state 


282 


THABBEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


When  Thadcleus  seated  Lady  Sara  in  her  drawing-room,  he 
offered  to  take  a respectful  leave ; but  she  laid  one  hand  on 
his  arm,  whilst  with  the  other  she  covered  her  convulsed  feat- 
ures, and  said,  Constantine,  before  you  go,  before  we  part, 
perhaps  eternally,  O ! tell  me  that  you  do  not,  even  now,  hate 
me  ! — that  you  do  not  hate  me ! ’’  repeated  she,  in  a firmer 
tone  ; I know  too  well  how  deeply  I am  despised/’ 

“ Cease,  ah,  cease  these  vehement  self-reproaches  ! ” re- 
turned he,  tenderly  replacing  her  on  the  sofa.  Shame  does 
not  depend  on  possessing  passions,  but  in  yielding  to  them. 
You  have  conquered  yours,  dear  Lady  Sara  ; and  in  future  I 
must  respect  and  love  you  like  a sister  of  my  heart.” 

Noble  Constantine ! there  is  no  guile  in  thee,”  exclaimed 
she,  straining  his  hand  to  her  lips.  ‘‘  May  Heaven  bless  you 
wherever  you  go  ! ” 

He  dropped  on  his  knees,  imprinted  on  both  her  hands  a 
true  brother’s  sacred  kiss,  and,  hastily  rising,  was  quitting  the 
room  without  a word,  when  he  heard,  in  a short,  low  sound  from 
her  voice,  “ O,  why  had  I not  a mother,  a sister,  to  love  and 
pity  me  ! Should  1 have  been  such  a wretch  as  now  ? ” 

Thaddeus  turned  from  the  door  at  the  tone  and  substance 
of  this  apparently  unconsciously  uttered  apostrophe.  She  was 
standing  with  her  hands  clasped,  and  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground.  By  an  irresistible  impulse  he  approached  her.  ‘‘  Lady 
Sara,”  said  he,  with  a tender  reverence  in  his  voice,  there  is 
penitence  and  prayer  to  a better  Parent  in  those  words  ! Look 
up  to  Him,  and  He  will  save  you  from  yourself,  and  bless  you 
in  your  husband.” 

She  did  raise  her  eyes  at  this  adjuration,  and  without  one 
earthward  glance  at  her  young  monitor  in  their  movement  to 
the  heaven  she  sought.  Neither  did  she  speak,  but  pressed, 
with  an  unutterable  emotion,  the  hand  which  now  held  hers, 
while  his  own  heart  did  indeed  silently  re-echo  the  prayer  he 
saw  in  her  upward  eyes.  Turning  gently  away,  he  glided,  in  a 
suffusion  of  grateful  tears,  out  of  the  apartment. 


17/AnDEC/S  OF  WARSAW. 


283 


CHAPTEPv  XXXIV. 

REQUIESCAT  IN  PACE. 

The  dream-like  amazement  which  enveloped  the  count’s 
faculties  after  the  preceding  scene  was  dissipated  next  morning 
by  the  appearance  of  Dr.  Cavendish.  When  he  saw  the 
general,  he  declared  it  to  be  his  opinion  that,  in  consequence 
of  his  long  and  tranquil  slumbers,  some  favorable  crisis  seemed 
near.  "'Probably,”  added  he,  “the  recovery  of  his  intellects. 
Such  phenomena  in  these  cases  often  happen  immediately  be- 
fore death.” 

“ Heaven  grant  it  may  in  this  ! ” ejaculated  Thaddeus  ; “ to 
hear  his  venerable  voice  again  acknowledge  that  I have  acted 
by  him  ns  became  the  grandson  of  his  friend,  would  be  a com- 
fort to  me.” 

“ But,  sir,”  repli  ‘ 1 the  kind  physician,  touching  his  burning 
'hand,  “ you  must  not  forget  the  cares  which  are  due  to  your 
bwn  life.  If  you  wish  well  to  the  general  during  the  few  days 
'he  may  have  to  live,  you  are  indispensably  obliged  to  preserve 
your  own  strcngtli.  You  are  already  ill,  and  require  air.  I 
have  an  hour  o^  leisure,”  continued  he,  pulling  out  his  watch; 
'“I  will  remain  here  till  you  have  taken  two  or  three  walks 
":’ound  St.  James’s  Park.  It  is  absolutely  necessary  ; in  this 
nstance  I mu:t  take  the  privilege  of  friendship,  and  insist  on 
bbedience.” 

Seeing  the  benevolent  Cavendish  would  not  be  denied, 
Thaddeus  took  his  hat,  and  with  harassed  spirits  walked  down 
:he  lane  towards  Charing  Cross. 

On  entering  Spring  Garden  gate,  to  his  extreme  surprise 
Mie  Erst  objects  that  met  his  sight  were  Miss  Euphemia  Dun- 
ias  and  Miss  Beaufort. 

Euphemia  accosted  him  with  ten  thousand  inquiries  re- 
,^pecting  his  friend,  besides  congratulations  on  his  own  good 
poks. 

Thaddeus  bowed  ; then  smiling  faintly,  turned  to  the  blush- 
ng  Mary,  who,  conscious  of  what  had  passed  in  the  late  con- 
versation between  herself  and  Lady  Tinemouth,  trembled  so 
nuch  that,  fearing  to  excite  the  suspicion  of  Euphemia  by  such 
:remor,  she  withdrew  her  arm,  and  walked  forward  alone,  tot- 
;ering  at  every  step. 


284 


THADDEVS  OF  IVARSAW. 


“ I thought,  Miss  Beaufort,”  said  he,  addressing  himself  tq 
her,  ” that  Lady  Tinemouth  was  to  have  had  the  happiness  of 
your  company  at  Harwold  Park  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  returned  she,  fearfully  raising  her  eyes  to  his  face, 
the  hectic  glow  of  which  conveyed  impressions  to  her  different 
from  those  which  Euphemia  expressed  ; “ but  to  my  indescribable 
alarm  and  disappointment,  the  morning  after  I had  written  to 
fix  my  departure  with  her  ladyship,  my  aunt’s  foot  caught  in 
the  iron  of  the  stair-carpet  as  she  was  coming  down  stairs,  and 
throwing  her  from  the  top  to  the  bottom,  broke  her  leg.  I 
could  not  quit  her  a moment  during  her  agonies  ; and  the  sur- 
geons having  expressed  their  fears  that  a fever  might  ensue,  i; 
was  obliged  altogether  to  decline  my  attendance  on  the  coun- 
t6SS,^^ 

‘‘  And  how  is  Miss  Dorothy  ? ’’  inquired  Thaddeus,  truly 
concerned  at  the  accident. 

‘'She  is  better,  though  confined  to  her  bed,”  replied  Eu- 
pheinia,  speaking  before  her  companion  could^^pen  her  lips  t 
“and,  indeed,  poor  Mary  and  myself  have  been  such  clos^ 
nurses,  my  mother  insisted  on  our  walking  out  to-day. 

“ And  Lady  Tinemouth,”  returned  Thaddeus,  again  address- 
ing Miss  Beaufort,  “ of  course  she  \yent  alone  ? ” 

“ Alas,  yes  ! ” replied  she ; “ Miss  Egerton  was  forced  to 
join  her  family  in  Leicestershire.” 

“ I believe,”  cried  Euphemia,  sighing,  “ Miss  Egerton  i? 
going  to  be  married.  Hers  has  been  a long  attachment,.  Happ> 
girl  r 1 have  heard  Captain  Ross  say  (whose  lieutenant  her  ini 
tended  husband  was)  that  he  is  the  finest  young  man  in  the 
navy.  Did  you  ever  see  Mr.  Montresor  ? ” added  she,  turning 
her  pretty  eyes  on  the  count. 

“ I never  had  that  pleasure.”  ^ ^ , 

“ Bless  me  ! that  is  odd,  considering  your  intimacy  witr^ 
Miss  Egerton.  I assure  you  he  is  very  charming.” 

Thaddeus  neither  heard  this  nor  a great  deal  more  of  the 
same  trifling  chit-chat  which  was  slipping  from  the  tongue  Oj 
Miss  Euphemia,  so  intently  were  his  eyes  (sent  by  his  heart 
searching  the  downcast  but  expressive  countenance  of  Mis! 
Beaufort.  His  soul  was  full ; and  the  fluctuations  of  her  color! 
with  the  embarrassment  of  her  step,  more  than  affected  him. 

“ Then  you  do  not  leave  town  for  some  time.  Miss  Beaufort  ? , 

inquired  he  ; “ I may  yet  anticipate  the  honor  of  seeing 

he  hesitated  a •moment,  then  added  in  a depressed  tone 
“ your  aunt,  when  I next  wait  on  the  Misses  Dundas.” 

“ Our  stay  depends  entirely  on  her  health,”  returned  shol 


THAI) BE  US  OF  PVAESAm 


2S5 


1 Lriving  to  rally  herself  ; “ and  I am  sure  she  will  be  happy  to 
I nd  you  better  j for  I am  sorry  to  say  I cannot  agree  with 
I iuphemia  in  thinking  you  look  well.’’ 

; ‘‘  Merely  a slight  indisposition,”  replied  he,  the  effect  of 

n anxiety  which  I fear  will  too  soon  cease  in  the  death  of  its 
; ause.  I came  out  now  for  a little  air,  whilst  the  physician  re- 
biains  with  my  revered  friend.” 

“ Poor  old  gentleman  ! ” sighed  Mary  ; “ how  venerable  was 
J is  appearance  the  morning  in  which  we  saw  him  in  the  Park  ! 
j v^hat  a benign  countenance  ! ” 

‘‘  His  countenance,”  replied  Thaddeus,  his  eyes  turning 
[ lournfully  towards  the  lovely  speaker,  “ is  the  emblem  of  his 
haracter.  He  was  the  most  amiable  of  men.” 

“ And  you  are  likely  to  lose  so  interesting  a friend  ; dear 
Ir.  Constantine,  how  I pity  you  ! ” While  Euphemia  uttered 
I lese  words,  she  put  the  corner  of  her  glove  to  her  eye. 
r The  count  looked  at  her,  and  perceiving  that  her  commis- 
^ration  was  affectation,  he  turned  to  Miss  Beaufort,  who  was 
' talking  pensively  by  his  side,  and  made  further  inquiries  re- 
;pecting  Miss  Dorothy.  Anxious  to  be  again  with  his  invalid, 
e was  preparing  to  quit  them,  when  Mai*}^,  as  with  a full  heart 
he  curtseyed  her  adieu,  in  a hurried  and  confused  manner, 

, aid — “ Pray,  Mr.  Constantine,  take  care  of  yourself.  You  have 
: ther  friends  besides  the  one  you  are  going  to  lose.  I know 

Lady  Tinemouth,  I know  my  aunt ” She  stopped  short,  and, 

I overed  with  blushes,  stood  panting  for  another  word  to  close 
he  sentence  ; when  Thaddeus,  forgetting  all  presence  but  her 
! wn,  with  delighted  precipitancy  caught  hold  of  the  hand  which, 

1 .1  her  confusion,  was  a little  extended  towards  him,  and  press- 
; ig  it  with  fervor,  relinquished  it  immediately  ; then,  overcome 
' y confusion  at  the  presumption  of  the  action,  he  bowed  with 
I gitation  to  both  ladies,  and  hastened  through  the  Friary  passage 
iito  St.  James’s  Street. 

I ‘‘  Miss  Beaufort ! ” cried  Euphemia,  reddening  with  vexation, 
.nd  returning  a perfumed  handkerchief  to  her  pocket,  ‘‘  I did 
lOt  understand  that  you  and  Mr.  Constantine  were  on  such  in- 
imate  terms ! ” 

‘ “ What  do  you  mean,  Euphemia.^  ” 

\ ‘‘That  you  have  betrayed  the  confidence  I reposed  in  you,” 

: Tied  the  angry  beauty,  wiping  away  the  really  starting  tears 
' nth  her  white  lace  cloak.  “ I told  you  the  elegant  Constantine 
vas  the  lord  of  my  heart ; and  you  have  seduced  him  from  me  ! 
nil  you  came,  he  was  so  respectful,  so  tender,  so  devoted  ! 
fSut  I am  rightly  used  ! I ought  to  have  carried  my  secret  to 
he  grave,” 


286 


THADBEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


In  vain  Miss  Beaufort  protested ; in  vain  she  declared  her- 
self ignorant  of  possessing  any  power  over  even  one  wish  of 
Constantine’s.  Euphemia  thought  it  monstrous  pretty  to  be 
the  injured  friend  and  forsaken  mistress ; and  all  along  the 
Park,  and  up  Constitution-hill,  until  they  arrived  at  Lady 
Dundas’s  carriage,  which  was  waiting  opposite  Devonshire- 
wall,  she  affected  to  weep.  When  seated,  she  continued  her 
invectives.  She  called  Miss  Beaufort  ungenerous,  perfidious 
traitor  to  friendship,  and  every  romantic  and  disloyal  name  which 
her  inflamed  fancy  could  devise ; till  the  sight  of  Harley  Street 
checked  her  transports,  and  relieved  her  patient  hearer  from  a 
load  of  impertinence  and  reproach. 

During  this  short  interview,  Thaddeus  had  received  an  im- 
pulse to  his  affections  which  hurried  them  forward  with  a force 
that  neither  time  nor  succeeding  sorrows  could  stop  nor  stem. 

Mary’s  heavenly-beaming  eyes  seemed  to  have  encircled  his 
head  with  love’s  purest  halo.  The  command,  “ Preserve  your- 
self for  others  besides  your  dying  friend,”  yet  throbbed  at  his 
heart ; and  with  ten  thousand  rapturous  visions  flitting  before 
his  sight,  he  trod  in  air,  until  the  humble  door  of  his  melan- 
choly home  presenting  itself,  at  once  wrecked  the  illusion,  and 
offered  sad  reality  in  the  person  of  his  emaciated  friend. 

On  the  count’s  entrance  to  the  sick  chamber.  Doctor  Caven- 
dish gave  him  a few  directions  to  pursue  when  the  general 
should  awake  from  the  sleep  into  which  he  had  been  sunk  for 
so  many  hours.  With  a heart  the  more  depressed  from  its  late 
unusual  exaltation,  Thaddeus  sat  down  at  the  side  of  the  in- 
valid’s bed  for  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

At  five  in  the  afternoon.  General  Butzou  awoke.  Seeing 
the  count,  he  stretched  out  his  withered  hand,  and  as  the  doc- 
tor predicted,  accosted  him  rationally. 

Come,  dear  Sobieski ! Come  nearer,  my  dear  master.” 

Thaddeus  rose,  and  throwing  himself  on  his  knees,  took  the 
offered  hand  with  apparent  composure.  It  was  a hard  struggle 
to  restrain  the  emotions  which  were  roused  by  this  awful  con- 
templation— the  return  of  reason  to  the  soul  on  the  instant  she 
was  summoned  into  the  presence  of  her  Maker  ! 

“ My  kind,  my  beloved  lord  ! ” added  Butzou,  ‘To  me  you 
have  indeed  performed  a Christian’s  part ; you  have  clothed, 
sheltered  and  preserved  me  in  your  bosom.  Blessed  son  of  my 
most  honored  master  ! ” 

The  good  old  man  put  the  hand  of  Thaddeus  to  his  lips. 
Thaddeus  could  not  speak. 

“I  am  going,  dear  Sobieski,”  continued  the  general,  in  a 


THABDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


287 

wer  voice,  ‘‘  where  I shall  meet  your  noble  grandfather,  your 
lother,  and  my  brave  countrymen ; and  if  Heaven  grants  me 
tower,  I will  tell  them  by  whose  labor  I have  lived,  on  whose 
•reast  I have  expired/’ 

Thaddeus  could  no  longer  restrain  his  tears. 

‘‘Dear,  dear  general ! ” exclaimed  he,  grasping  his  hand  j 
, my  grandfather,  my  mother,  my  country  ! I lose  them  all 
gain  in  thee  ! O ! would  that  the  same  summons . took  me 
ence  ! ” 

“ Hush  ! ” returned  the  dying  man  ; “ Heaven  reserves  you, 
ly  honored  lord,  for  wise  purposes.  Youth  and  health  are  the 
larks  of  commission  : * you  possess  them,  with  virtues  which 
/ill  bear  you  through  the  contest,  /hav^e  done  ; and  my  mer- 
iful  Judge  has  evinced  his  pardon  of  my  errors  by  sparing  me 
a my  old  age,  and  leading  me  to  die  with  you.” 

Thaddeus  pressed  his  friend’s  hand  to  his  streaming  eyes, 
nd  promised  to  be  resigned.  Butzou  smiled  his  satisfaction  ; 
hen  closing  his  eyelids,  he  composed  himself  to  a rest  that  was 
either  sleep  nor  stupor,  but  a balmy  serenity,  which  seemed  to 
•e  tempering  his  lately  recovered  soul  for  its  immediate  en- 
rance  on  a world  of  eternal  peace. 

At  nine  o’clock  his  breath  became  broken  with  quick  sighs, 
"he  count’s  heart  trembled,  and  he  drew  closer  to  the  pillow, 
lutzou  felt  him  ; and  opening  his  eyes  languidly,  articulated, 

■ Raise  my  head.” 

Thaddeus  put  his  arm  under  his  neck,  and  lifting  him  up, 
eclined  him  against  his  bosom.  Butzou  grasped  his  hands, 

; nd  looking  gratefully  in  his  face,  said,  “ The  arms  of  a soldier 
I hould  be  a soldier’s  death-bed.  I am  content.” 

I He  lay  for  a moment  on  the  breast  of  the  almost  fainting 
i Taddeus  ; then  suddenly  quitting  his  hold,  he  cried,  “ I lose 
ou,  Sobieski ! But  there  is ” and  he  gazed  fixedly  for- 

ward. 

* I cannot  but  pause  here,  in  revising  the  volume,  to  publicly  express  the  emotion  (grate- 
.1  to  Heavenl  I experienced  on  receiving  a letter  quoting  these  words,  many,  many  years 
;o.  It  was  from  the  excellent  Joseph  Fox,  the  well-known  Christian  philanthropist  of 
ir  country,  who  spent  both  his  fortune  and  his  life  in  establishing  and  sustaining  several 
our  best  charitable  and  otherwise  patriotic  institutions.  And  once,  when  some  of  his 
•ixious  friends  would  gladly  have  persuaded  him  to  grant  himself  more  personal  indulgences, 
I id  to  labor  less  in  the  then  recently-begun  plans  for  national  education,  he  wrote  “ to  the 
i ithor  of  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw,”  and,  quoting  to  her  those  words  from  the  work,  declared 
j they  were  on  his  heart ! and  he  would,  with  the  blessing  of  God,  perform  what  he  believed 
! be  his  commission  to  the  last  powers  of  his  youth  and  health.” 

' This  admirable  man  has  now  been  long  removed  to  his  heavenly  country — to  the  ever- 
|1  sting  dwelling-place  of  the  just  made  perfect.  And  such  recollections  cannot  but  make 
: i historical  novel-writer  at  least  feel  answerable  for  more,  in  his  or  her  pages,  than  the 
J irposes  of  mere  amusement.  They  guide  by  examples.  Plutarch,  in  his  lives  of  Grecian 
j id  Roman  Worthies,  taught  more  effectually  the  heroic  and  virtuous  science  of  life  than 
I d all  his  philosophical  works  put  together. 


288 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


“I  am  here,”  exclaimed  the  count,  catching  his  motionless 
hand.  The  dying  general  murmured  a few  words  more,  and 
turning  his  face  inward,  breathed  his  last  sigh  on  the  bosom  of 
his  last  friend. 

For  a minute  Sobieski  continued  incapable  of  thought  or 
action.  When  he  recovered  recollection,  he  withdrew  from  his 
melancholy  station.  Laying  the  venerable  remains  back  on 
the  bed,  he  did  not  trust  his  rallied  faculties  with  a second 
trial,  but  hastening  down  stairs,  was  met  by  Mrs.  Robson. 

‘‘  My  dear  madam,”  said  he,  ‘‘  all  is  over  with  my  poor 
friend.  Will  you  do  me  the  kindness  to  perform  those  duties 
to  his  sacred  relics  which  I cannot  ? ” 

Thaddeus  would  not  allow  any  person  to  watch  by  his 
friend’s  coffin  besides  himself.  The  meditations  of  this  solitary 
night  presented  to  his  sound  and  sensible  mind  every  argument 
rather  to  induce  rejoicing  than  regret  that  the  eventful  life  of 
the  brave  Butzou  was  terminated. 

“Yes,  illustrious  old  man  !”  cried  he,  gazing  on  his  mar- 
ble features  ; “ if  valor  and  virtue  be  the  true  sources  of  nobil- 
ity, thou  surely  wast  noble  ! Inestimable  defender  of  Stanis- 
laus and  thy  country ! thou  hast  run  a long  and  bright  career  ; 
and  though  thou  art  fated  to  rest  in  the  humble  grave  of 
poverty,  it  will  be  embalmed  by  the  tears  of  Heaven — it  will  be 
engraven  on  my  heart.” 

Thaddeus  did  not  weep  whilst  he  spoke.  Nor  did  he  weep 
when  he  beheld  the  mold  of  St.  Paul’s,  Covent  Garden,  close 
from  his  view  the  last  remains  of  his  friend.  It  began  to  rain. 
The  uncovered  head  of  the  officiating  minister  was  wet ; and  so 
was  that  of  a little  delicate  boy,  in  a black  cloak,  who  stood 
near,  holding  the  aged  rector’s  hat  during  the  service.  As  the 
shower  descended  faster.  Dr.  Cavendish  put  his  arm  through 
the  count’s  to  draw  him  away,  but  he  lingered  an  instant,  look- 
ing on  the  mold  while  the  sexton  piled  it  up.  “Wretched 
Poland  ! ” sighed  he ; “ how  far  from  thee  lies  one  of  thy 
bravest  sons  ! ” The  words  were  breathed  in  so  low  a mur- 
mur, that  none  heard  them  except  the  ear  of  Pleaven  ! and 
that  little  boy,  whose  gaze  had  been  some  time  fixed  on  Thad- 
deus, and  whose  gentle  heart  never  forgot  them. 

Dr.  Cavendish,  regarding  with  redoubled  pity  the  now 
doubly  desolated  exile  in  this  last  resignation  of  his  parental 
friend  to  a foreign  grave,  attempted  to  persuade  him  to  return 
with  him  to  dinner.  He  refused  the  kind  invitation,  alleging, 
with  a faint  smile,  that  under  every  misfortune  he  found  his 
best  comforter  in  solitude. 


THABDEUS  OF  IVARSAIV. 


289 

Respecting  the  resignation  and  manliness  of  this  answer, 
Doctor  Cavendish  urged  him  no  further ; but  expressing  his 
'egret  that  he  could  not  see  him  again  until  the  end  of  the 
veek,  as  he  was  obliged  to  go  to  Stanford  next  day  on  a 
nedical  consultation,  he  shook  hands  with  him  at  the  door  of 
Mrs.  Robson  and  bade  him  farewell. 

Thaddeus  entered  his  lonely  room,  and  fell  on  his  knees 
before  the  ark  of  his  strength,’’ — the  Holy  Book,  that  had 
)een  the  gift  of  his  mother.  The  first  page  he  opened  pre- 
sented to  him  the  very  words  which  had  poured  consolation 
nto  his  sad  heart,  from  the  lips  of  the  venerable  clergyman 
vhen  he  met  him  on  his  entrance  into  the  church-porch  before 
;he  coffin  of  his  friend  1 

I am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,  saith  the  Lord.  He 
hat  believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live  j 
ind  whosoever  liveth,  and  believeth  in  me,  shall  never  die.” 

After  reading  this,  how  truly  did  the  young  mourner  feel 
hat  “Death  had  lost  its  sting — the  grave  its  victory,” 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

DEEP  ARE  THE  PURPOSES  OF  ADVERSITY. 

Next  morning,  when  the  Count  Sobieski  unfolded  the 
several  packets  of  papers  which  were  put  into  his  hands  by 
ittle  Nanny,  he  laid  them  one  after  the  other  on  the  table,  and 
sighing  heavily,  said  to  himself,  Now  comes  the  bitterness  of 
poverty  ! Heaven  only  knows  by  what  means  I shall  pay  these 
leavy  charges.” 

Mere  personal  privations,  induced  by  his  fallen  fortunes, 
ixcited  little  uneasiness  in  the  mind  of  Thaddeus.  As  he 
lever  had  derived  peculiar  gratification  from  the  enjoyment  of 
i magnificent  house,  splendid  table,  and  numerous  attendants, 
le  was  contented  in  the  field,  where  he  slept  on  the  bare 
ground,  and  snatched  his  hasty  meals  at  uncertain  intervals, 
hatching,  rough  fare,  and  other  hardships  were  dust  in  the 
mth  of  honor ; he  had  dashed  through  them  with  light  and 
)uoyant  spirits  ; and  he  repined  as  little  at  the  actual  wants  of 
lis  forlorn  state  in  exile,  until,  compelled  by  friendship  to  con- 
ract  demands  which  he  could  not  defray,  he  was  plunged  at 
mce  into  the  full  horrors  of  poverty  and  debt. 


290 


TIIADDEUS  OF  IVARSAIV. 


He  looked  at  the  amount  of  the  bills.  The  apothecary’? 
was  twelve  pounds  ; the  funeral  fifteen.  Thaddeus  turned  pale. 
The  value  of  all  that  he  possessed  would  not  produce  one  half 
of  the  sum  ; besides,  he  owed  five  guineas  to  his  good  landlady, 
for  numerous  little  comforts  procured  for  his  deceased  friend. 

“ Whatever  be  the  consequence,”  cried  he,  that  excellent 
woman  shall  not  suffer  by  her  humanity ! If  I have  to  part 
with  the  last  memorial  of  those  who  were  so  dear,  she  shall  be 
repaid.” 

He  scarcely  had  ceased  speaking,  when  Nanny  re-entered 
the  room,  and  told  him  the  apothecary’s  young  man  and  the 
undertaker  were  both  below,  waiting  for  answers  to  their  let- 
ters. Reddening  with  disgust  at  the  unfeeling  haste  of  these 
men,  he  desired  Nanny  to  say  that  he  could  not  see  either  of 
them  to-day,  but  would  send  to  their  houses  to-morrow.” 

In  consequence  of  this  promise,  the  men  made  their  bows 
to  Mrs.  Robson  (who  too  well  guessed  the  reason  of  this  mes- 
sage), and  took  their  leave. 

When  Thaddeus  put  the  pictures  of  his  mother  and  the 
palatine,  with  other  precious  articles,  into  his  pocket,  he  could 
not  forbear  an  internal  invective  against  the  thoughtless  mean- 
• ness  of  the  Misses  Dundas,  who  had  never  offered  any  further 
liquidation  of  the  large  sum  they  now  stood  indebted  to  him 
than  the  trifling  note  which  had  been  transmitted  to  him,  prior 
to  his  attendance,  through  the  hands  of  Lady  Tinemouth. 

Whilst  his  necessities  reproached  them  for  this  illiberal 
conduct,  his  proud  heart  recoiled  at  making  a request  to  their 
charity ; for  he  had  gathered  from  the  haughty  demeanor  of 
Miss  Diana  that  what  he  was  entitled  to  demand  would  be 
given,  not  as  a just  remuneration  for  labor  received,  but  as 
alms  of  humanity  to  an  indigent  emigrant. 

would  rather  perish,”  cried  he,  putting  on  his  hat,  ‘‘than 
dsk  that  woman  for  a shilling.” 

When  the  count  laid  his  treasure  on  the  table  of  the  worthy 
pawnbroker,  he  desired  to  have  the  value  of  the  settings  of  the 
pictures,  and  the  portraits  themselves  put  into  leather  cases. 
With  the  other  little  things,  there  were  a pair  of  gold  spurs,  the 
peculiar  insignia  of  his  princely  rank,  which  the  palatine  him- 
self had  buckled  on  his  grandson’s  heels  on  mounting  his  noble 
charger  for  his  first  field.  There  was  a peculiar  pang  in  part- 
ing with  these — a sort  of  last  relic  of  what  he  had  been  ! But 
there  was  no  alternative  : all  that  had  any  intrinsic  value  must 
pass  from  him. 

Having  examined  the  setting  of  the  miniatures,  and  the 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


291 

gold  of  the  other  trinkets,  with  that  of  the  spurs  (which  their 
hard  service  had  something  marred),  Mr.  Burket  declared,  on 
the  word  of  an  honest  man,  that  he  could  not  give  more  than 
fifteen  pounds. 

With  difficulty  Thaddeus  stifled  as  torturing  a sigh  as  ever 
distended  his  breast,  whilst  he  said, 

‘‘  I will  take  it.  I only  implore  you  to  be  careful  of  the 
things,  trifling  as  they  are ; circumstances  with  which  they 
were  connected  render  them  valuable  to  me  to  redeem.” 

You  may  depend  on  me,  sir,”  replied  the  pawnbroker, 
presenting  him  the  notes  and  acknowledgment. 

When  Thaddeus  took  them,  Mr.  Burket’s  eye  was  caught  by 
the  ring  on  his  finger. 

That  ring  seems  curious  ? If  you  won’t  think  me  im- 
pertinent, may  I ask  to  look  at  it  ? ” 

The  count  pulled  it  off,  and  forcing  a smile,  replied,  I 
suppose  it  is  of  little  jewel  value.  The  setting  is  slight,  though 
the  painting  is  fine.” 

Burket  breathed  on  the  diamonds.  ‘‘  If  you  were  to  sell 
it,”  returned  he,  ‘‘  I don’t  think  it  would  fetch  more  than  three 
guineas.  The  diamonds  are  flawed,  and  the  emeralds  would 
be  of  little  use,  being  out  of  fashion  here  ; as  for  the  miniature, 
it  goes  for  nothing.” 

‘‘  Of  course,”  said  Thaddeus,  putting  it  on  again  ; ‘‘  but  I 
shall  not  part  with  it.”  While  he  drew  on  his  glove,  Mr.  Bur- 
ket asked  him  ‘‘whether  the  head  were  not  intended  for  the 
King  of  Poland  ? ” 

The  count,  surprised,  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

“ I thought  so,”  answered  the  man  ; “ it  is  very  like  two  or 
three  prints  which  I had  in  my  shop  of  that  king.”  * Indeed, 
I believe  I have  them  somewhere  now : these  matters  are  but 
a nine-day’s  wonder,  and  the  sale  is  over.” 

His  auditor  did  not  clearly  comprehend  him,  and  he  told 
him  so. 

“ I meant  nothing,”  continued  he,  “ to  the  disparagement 
of  the  King  of  Poland,  or  of  any  other  great  personage  who  is 
much  the  subject  of  conversation.  I only  intended  to  say  that 
everything  has  its  fashion.  The  ruin  of  Poland  was  the  fash- 
' ionable  topic  for  a month  after  it  happened  ; and  now  nobody 
minds  it — it  is  forgotten.” 

Thaddeus,  in  whose  bosom  all  its  miseries  were  written, 


The  author  has  a very  correct  likeness  of  this  memorable  king,  copied  from  an  original 
mimature  ; and  it  is  not  one  of  the  least  valued  portraits  in  a little  room  which  contain! 
those  of  several  other  heroes  of  different  countries, — friends  and  gallant  foes. 


292 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


with  a clouded  brow  bowed  to  the  remarks  of  Mr.  Burket,  and 
in  silence  quitted  the  shop. 

Having  arrived  at  home,  he  discharged  his  debt  to  the 
worthy  Mrs.  Robson  ; then  entering  his  room,  he  laid  the  re- 
mainder of  his  money  on  the  bills  of  the  two  claimants.  It 
was  unequal  to  the  demands  of  either ; yet,  in  some  measure 
to  be  just  to  both,  he  determined  on  dividing  it  between  them, 
and  to  promise  the  liquidation  of  the  rest  by  degrees. 

Surely  he  might  hope  that,  even  should  the  Misses  Dundas 
entirely  forget  his  claims  on  them,  he  could,  in  the  course  of 
time  make  drawings  sufficient  to  discharge  the  residue  of  the 
debt ; but  he  was  not  permitted  to  put  this  calculation  to  the 
trial. 

When  he  called  on  the  apothecary,  and  offered  him  only 
half  his  demand,  the  man  refused  it  with  insolence,  insisting 
upon  having  the  whole  then,  “ or  he  would  make  him  pay  for 
it!”  Unused  to  the  language  of  compulsion  and  vulgarity, 
the  count  quitted  the  shop  saying  ‘‘  he  was  at  liberty  to  act  as 
he  thought  fit.”  With  no  very  serene  countenance,  he  entered 
the  undertaker’s  warehouse.  This  man  was  civil ; to  him 
Thaddeus  gave  the  entire  sum,  half  of  which  the  apothecary 
had  rejected  with  so  much  derision.  The  undertaker’s  polite- 
ness a little  calmed  the  irritated  feelings  of  the  count,  who  re- 
turned home  musing  on  the  vile  nature  of  thaf  class  of  man- 
kind who  can  with  indifference  heap  insult  upon  distress. 

Judging  men  by  his  own  disposition,  he  seldom  gave  cre- 
dence to  the  possibility  of  such  conduct.  He  had  been  told  of 
dastardly  spirits,  but  never  having  seen  them,  and  possessing 
no  archetype  within  his  own  breast  of  what  he  heard,  the  re- 
peated relation  passed  over  his  mind  without  leaving  an  im- 
pression. He  had  entered  the  world  filled  wdth  animating 
hopes  of  virtue  and  renown.  He  was  virtuous ; he  became 
powerful,  great,  and  renowned.  Creation  seemed  paradise  to 
his  eyes ; it  was  the  task  of  adversity  to  teach  him  a different 
lesson  of  mankind.  Not  less  virtuous,  not  less  great,  his  for- 
tunes fell : he  became  poor.  The  perfidy,  the  hard-heartedness 
of  man,  made  and  kept  him  friendless.  When  he  wanted  suc- 
cor and  consolation,  he  found  the  world  peopled  by  a race  too 
mean  even  to  bear  the  stamp  of  the  devil. 

Whilst  Sobieski  was  employed  next  morning  at  his  drawing, 
Mrs.  Robson  sent  Nanny  to  say  that  there  were  two  strange- 
looking  men  below  who  wanted  to  speak  with  him.  Not  doubt- 
ing they  were  messengers  from  the  apothecary,  he  desired  the 
girl  to  show  them  up  stairs.  When  they  entered  his  room,  the 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


293 


count  rose.  One  of  the  men  stepped  forward,  and  laying  a 
slip  of  paper  on  the  table,  said,  I arrest  you,  sir,  at  the  suit 
of  Messrs.  Vincent  and  Jackson,  apothecaries  ! ’’ 

Thaddeus  colored  ; but  suppressing  his  indignant  emotion, 
he  calmly  asked  the  men  whither  they  were  going  to  take  him  ? 

If  you  like,’’  replied  one  of  them,  ‘'you  may  be  well 
enough  lodged.  I never  heard  a word  against  Clement’s  in 
Wych  Street.” 

“ Is  that  a prison  ? ” inquired  Thaddeus. 

“ No,  not  exactly  that,  sir,”  answered  the  other  man,  laugh- 
ing. “ You  seem  to  know  little  of  the  matter,  which,  for  a 
Frenchman,  is  odd  enough  ; but  mayhap  you  have  never  alock- 
upd-house  in  France,  since  ye  pulled  down  the  bastile  ! How- 
soever, if  you  pay  well,  Mr.  Clements  will  give  you  lodgings  as 
long  as  you  like.  It  is  only  poor  rogues  who  are  obligated  to 
go  to  Newgate  ; such  gemmen  as  you  can  live  as  ginteely  in 
Wych  Street  as  at  their  own  houses.” 

There  was  such  an  air  of  derision  about  this  fellow  while  he 
spoke,  and  glanced  around  the  room,  that  Thaddeus,  sternly 
contracting  his  brows,  took  no  further  notice  of  him,  but,  turn- 
ing towards  his  more  civil  companion,  said  : 

“ Has  this  person  informed  me  rightly  ? Am  I going  to  a 
prison,  or  am  I not  ? If  I do  not  possess  money  to  pay  Mr. 
Jackson,  I can  have  none  to  spend  elsewhere.” 

“ Then  you  must  go  to  Newgate  ! ” answered  the  man,  in 
as  surly  a tone  as  his  comrade’s  had  been  insolent. 

“ I’ll  run  for  a coach,  Wilson,”  cried  the  other,  opening  the 
room  door. 

“ I will  not  pay  for  one,”  said  Thaddeus,  at  once  compre- 
hending the  sort  of  wretches  into  whose  custody  he  had  fallen  ; 
“ follow  me  down  stairs.  I shall  walk.” 

Mrs.  Robson  was  in  her  shop  as  he  passed  to  the  street. 
She  called  out,  “ You  will  come  home  to  dinner,  sir  ” 

“No,”  replied  he;  “but  you  shall  hear  from  me  before 
night.” 

“ The  men,  winking  at  each  other,  sullenly  pursued  his 
steps  down  the  lane.  In  the  Strand,  Thaddeus  asked  them 
which  way  he  was  to  proceed  ? ” 

“ Straight  on,”  cried  one  of  them  ; “ most  folks  find  the 
road  to  a jail  easy  enough.” 

Involved  in  thought,  the  count  walked  forward,  unmindful 
of  the  stare  which  the  well-known  occupation  of  his  attendants 
attracted  towards  him.  When  he  arrived  at  Somerset  House, 
one  of  the  men  stepped  up  to  him,  and  said,  “We  are  now 


294 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


nearly  opposite  Wych  Street.  You  had  better  take  your  mind 
again,  and  go  there  instead  of  Newgate.  I don’t  think  your 
honor  will  like  the  debtor’s  hole.” 

Thaddeus,  coldly  thanking  him,  repeated  his  determination 
to  be  led  to  Newgate.  But  when  he  beheld  the  immense  walls, 
within  which  he  believed  he  should  be  immured  for  life,  his 
feet  seemed  rooted  to  the  ground  ; and  when  the  massive  doors 
were  opened  and  closed  upon  him,  he  felt  as  if  suddenly  de- 
prived of  the  vital  spring  of  existence.  A mist  spread  over 
his  eyes,  his  soul  shuddered,  and  with  difficulty  he  followed  the 
men  into  the^place  where  his  commitment  was  to  be  ratified. 
Here  all  the  proud  energies  of  his  nature  again  rallied  round 
his  heart. 

The  brutal  questions  of  the  people  in  office,  re-echoed  by 
taunts  from  the  wretches  who  had  brought  him  to  the  prison, 
were  of  a nature  so  much  beneath  his  answering,  that  he  stood 
perfectly  silent  during  the  business  ; and  when  dismissed,  with- 
out evincing  any  signs  of  discomposure,  he  followed  the  turn- 
key to  his  cell. 

One  deal  chair,  a table,  and  a miserable  bed,  were  all  the 
furniture  it  contained.  The  floor  was  paved  with  flags,  and  the 
sides  of  the  apartment  daubled  with  disclored  plaster,  part  of 
which,  having  been  peeled  off  by  the  damp,  exposed  to  view 
large  spaces  of  the  naked  stones. 

Before  the  turnkey  withdrew  he  asked  Thaddeus  whether 
he  wanted  anything  ? 

Only  a pen,  ink,  and  paper.” 

The  man  held  out  his  hand. 

“ I have  no  money,”  replied  Sobieski. 

^^Then  you  get  nojhing  here,”  answered  the  fellow,  pulling 
the  door  after  him. 

Thaddeus  threw  himself  on  the  chair,  and  in  the  bitterness 
of  his  heart  exclaimed,  Can  these  scoundrels  be  Christians  ? 
— can  they  be  men  ? ” He  cast  his  eyes  round  him  with  the 
wildness  of  despair.  “ Mysterious  Heaven,  can  it  be  possible 
that  for  a few  guineas  I am  to  be  confined  in  this  place  for 
life  ? In  these  narrow  bounds  am  I to  waste  my  youth,  my  ex- 
istence ? Even  so ; I cannot,  I will  not,  degrade  the  spirit  of 
Poland  by  imploring  assistance  from  any  native  of  a land  in 
which  avarice  has  extinguished  the  feelings  of  humanity.” 

By  the  next  morning,  the  first  paroxysm  of  indignation  hav- 
ing subsided,  Thaddeus  entertained  a cooler  and  more  reason- 
able opinion  of  his  situation.  He  considered  that  though  he 
was  a prisoner,  it  was  in  consequence  of  debts  incurred  in  be- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAIV. 


29s 


half  of  a friend  whose  latter  hours  were  rendered  less  wretched 
by  such  means.  Notwithstanding  ‘‘all  that  man  could  do  unto 
him/’  he  had  brought  an  approving  conscience  to  lighten  the 
gloom  of  his  dungeon ; and  resuming  his  wonted  serenity,  he 
continued  to  distance  the  impertinent  freedom  of  his  jailers 
by  a calm  dignity,  which  extorted  civility  and  commanded  re- 
1 spect. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

AN  ENGLISH  PRISON. 

Several  days  elapsed  without  the  inhabitants  of  Harley 
Street  hearing  any  tidings  of  Thaddeus. 

Miss  Dundas  never  bestowed  a thought  on  his  absence,  ex- 
cept when,  descanting  on  her  favorite  subject,  “ the  insolence 
of  dependent  people,”  she  alleged  his  daring  to  withdraw  him- 
self as  an  instance.  Miss  Euphemia  uttered  all  her  complaints 
to  Miss  Beaufort,  whom  she  accused  of  not  being  satisfied  with 
seducing  the  affections  of  Mr.  Constantine,  but  she  must  also 
spirit  him  away,  lest  by  remorse  he  should  be  induced  to  renew 
his  former  devotion  at  the  shrine  of  her  tried  constancy. 

Mary  found  these  secret  conferences  very  frequent  and  very 
teasing.  She  believed  neither  the  count’s  past  devoirs  to 
Euphemia  nor  his  present  allegiance  to  herself.  With  anxiety 
she  watched  the  slow  decline  of  every  succeeding  day,  hoping 
that  each  knock  at  the  door  would  present  either  himself  or  an 
apology  for  his  absence. 

In  vain  her  reason  urged  the  weakness  and  folly  of  giving 
way  to  the  influence  of  a sentiment  as  absorbing,  as  it  was  un- 
foreseen. “ It  is  not  his  personal  graces,”  murmured  she, 
whilst  her  dewy  eyes  remained  riveted  on  the  floor  ; “ they  have 
not  accomplished  this  effect  on  me  ! No  ; matchless  as  he  is, 
though  his  countenance,  when  illumined  by  the  splendors  of  his 
mind,  expresses  consummate  beauty,  3^et  my  heart  tells  me  I 
would  rather  see  all  that  perfection  demolished  than  lose  one 
beam  of  those  bright  charities  which  first  attracted  my  esteem. 
Yes,  Constantine!”  cried  she,  rising  in  agitation,  “I  could 
adore  thy  virtues  were  they  even  in  the  bosom  of  deformity. 
It  is  these  that  I love  ; it  is  these  that  are  thyself  ! it  is  thy 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


296 

noble,  godlike  soul  that  so  entirely  fills  my  heart,  and  must  for- 
ever ! '' 

She  recalled  the  hours  which,  in  his  society,  had  glided  so 
swiftly  by  to  pass  in  review  before  her.  They  came,  and  her 
tears  redoubled.  Neither  his  words  nor  his  looks  had  been 
kinder  to  her  than  to  Miss  Egerton  or  to  Lady  Sara  Ross.  She 
remembered  his  wild  action  in  the  park : it  had  transported  her 
at  the  moment ; it  even  now  made  her  heart  throb  ; but  she 
ceased  to  believe  it  intended  more  than  an  animated  expression 
of  gratitude. 

An  adverse  apprehension  seemed  to  have  taken  possession 
of  her  breast.  In  proportion  to  the  vehemence  of  Miss  Euphe- 
mia’s  reproaches  (who  insisted  on  the  passion  of  Thaddeus 
for  Mary),  she  the  more  doubted  the  evidence  of  those  delight- 
ful emotions  which  had  rushed  over  her  soul  when  she  found 
her  hand  so  fervently  pressed  in  his. 

Euphemia  never  made  a secret  of  the  tenderness  she  pro- 
fessed ; and  Miss  Beaufort  having  been  taught  by  her  own  heart 
to  read  distinctly  the  eyes  of  Lady  Sara,  the  result  of  her  obser- 
vations had  long  acted  as  a caustic  on  her  peace  ; it  had  often 
robbed  her  cheeks  of  their  bloom,  and  compelled  her  to  number 
the  lingering  minutes  of  the  night  with  sighs.  But  her  deep 
and  modest  flame  assumed  no  violence  ; removed  far  from  sight, 
it  burnt  the  more  intensely. 

Instead  of  over-valuing  the  fine  person  of  Thaddeus,  the 
encomiums  which  it  extorted,  even  from  the  lips  of  prejudice, 
occasioned  one  source  of  her  pain.  She  could  not  bear  to  think 
it  probable  that  the  man  whom  she  believed,  and  knew,  to  be 
gifted  with  every  attribute  of  goodness  and  of  heroism,  might 
one  day  be  induced  to  sacrifice  the  rich  treasure  of  his  mind  to 
a creature  who  would  select  him  from  the  rest  merely  on  ac- 
count of  his  external  superiority. 

Such  was  the  train  of  Mary’s  meditations.  Covering  hei 
face  with  her  handkerchief,  she  exclaimed  in  a tender  and 
broken  voice,  ‘‘  Ah,  why  did  I leave  my  quiet  home  to  expose 
myself  to  the  vicissitudes  of  society  ? Sequestered  from  the 
world,  neither  its  pageants  nor  its  mortifications  could  have 
reached  me  there.  I have  seen  thee,  matchless  Constantine ! 
Like  a bright  planet,  thou  has  passed  before  me  ! — like  a being 
of  a superior  order ! And  I never,  never  can  debase  my  nature 
to  change  that  love.  Thy  image  shall  follow  me  into  solitude 
— shall  consecrate  my  soul  to  the  practice  of  every  virtue  ! I 
will  emulate  thy  excellence,  when,  perhaps,  thou  hast  forgotten 
that  I exist.” 


THADBEUS  OF  WARS  A W 


297 


The  fit  of  despondence  which  threatened  to  succeed  this  last 
melancholy  reflection  was  interrupted  by  the  sudden  entrance 
of  Euphemia.  Miss  Beaufort  hastily  rose,  and  drew  her  ringlets 
over  her  eyes. 

“ O,  Mary  ! cried  the  little  beauty,  holding  up  her  pretty 
hands,  what  do  you  think  has  happened  ? ’’ 

What  ? ” demanded  she  in  alarm,  and  hastening  towards 
the  door;  anything  to  my  aunt  ? 

‘‘No,  no,’’  answered  Euphemia,  catching  her  by  the  arm  ; 
“ but  could  my  injured  heart  derive  satisfaction  from  revenge, 
I should  now  be  happy.  Punishment  has  overtaken  the  faith- 
less Constantine.” 

Miss  Beaufort  looked  aghast,  and  grasping  the  back  of  the 
chair  to  prevent  her  from  falling,  breathlessly  inquired  what  sh^ 
meant  ? 

“ Oh  ! he  is  sent  to  prison,”  cried  Euphemia,  not  regarding 
the  real  agitation  of  her  auditor  (so  much  was  she  occupied  in 
appearing  overwhelmed  herself),  and  wringing  her  hands,  sh$ 
continued,  That  frightful  wretch  Mr.  Lascelles  is  just  come 
in  to  dinner.  You  cannot  think  with  what  fiendish  glee  he  told 
me  that  several  days  ago,  as  he  was  driving  out  of  town,  he  saw 
Mr.  Constantine,  with  two  bailiffs  behind  him,  walking  down 
Fleet  Street  \ And,  besides,  I verily  believe  he  said  he  had 
irons  on.’' 

“ No,  no  ! ” ejaculated  Mary,  with  a cry  of  terror,  at  this  ad 
libitum  of  Euphemia’s  ; “ what  can  he  have  done  'i  ” 

“ Bless  me  ! ’'  returned  Euphemia,  staring  at  her  pale  face  ; 
“ why,  what  frightens  you  so  ? Does  not  everybody  run  in  debt, 
without  minding  it } ” 

Miss  Beaufort  shook  her  head,  and  looking  distractedly 
about,  put  her  hand  to  hei  foreheads  Euphemia,  determining 
not  to  be  outdone  in  “ tender  woe,’'  drew  forth  her  handker- 
chief, and  putting  it  to  her  eyes,  resumed  in  a piteous  tone — 

“ I am  sure  I shall  hate  Lascelles  all  my  life,  because  he 
did  not  stop  the  men  and  inquire  what  jail  they  were  taking 
him  to?  You  know,  my  dear,  you  and  I might  have  visited 
him.  It  would  have  been  delightful  to  have  consoled  his  sad 
hours  ! We  might  have  planned  his  escape.” 

“ In  irons  ! ” ejaculated  Mary,  raising  her  tearless  eyes  to 
heaven. 

Euphemia  colored  at  the  agonized  manner  in  which  these 
words  were  reiterated,  and  rather  confusedly  replied,  “ Not 
absolutely  in  irons.  You  know  that  is  a metaphorical  term  for 
captivity,” 


298 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAIV. 


“ Then  he  was  not  in  irons  ? ” cried  Miss  Beaufort,  seizir*:'. 
her  hand  eagerly  : for  Heaven’s  sake,  tell  me  he  was  not  in 
irons  ? ” 

“Why,  then,”  returned  Euphemia,  half  angry  at  being 
obliged  to  contradict  herself,  “ if  you  are  so  dull  of  taste,  and 
cannot  understand  poetical  language,  I must  tell  you  he  was 
not.” 

Mary  heard  no  further,  but  even  at  the  moment,  overcome 
by  a revulsion  of  joy,  sunk,  unable  to  speak,  into  the  chair. 

Euphemia,  supposing  she  had  fainted,  flew  to  the  top  of 
stairs,  and  shrieking  violently,  stood  wringing  her  hands,  until 
Diana  and  Lady  Dundas,  followed  by  several  gentlemen,  has- 
tened out  of  the  saloon  and  demanded  what  was  the  matter 
As  Euphemia  pointed  to  Miss  Beaufort’s  dressing-room,  she 
staggered,  and  sinking  into  the  arms  of  Lord  Elesmere,  fell 
into  the  most  outrageous  hysterics.  The  marquis,  who  had 
just  dropped  in  on  his  return  from  St.  James’s,  was  so  afraid 
of  the  agitated  lady’s  tearing  his  point-lace  ruffles,  that,  in  al 
most  as  trembling  a state  as  herself,  he  gladly  shuffled  her  into 
the  hands  of  her  maid ; and  scampering  down  stairs,  as  if  all 
Bedlam  were  at  his  heels,  sprung  into  his  vis-d-vis,  and  drove 
off  like  lightning. 

When  Miss  Beaufort  recovered  her  scattered  senses,  and 
beheld  this  influx  of  persons  entering  her  room,  she  tried  to 
dispel  her  confusion,  and  rising  gently  from  her  seat,  while 
supporting  herself  on  the  arm  of  Miss  Dorothy’s  maid,  thanked 
the  company  for  their  attention  and  withdrew  into  her  chamber. 

Meanwhile,  Euphemia,  who  had  been  carried  down  into  the 
saloon,  thought  it  time  to  raise  her  lily  head  and  utter  a few 
incoherent  words.  The  instant  they  were  breathed.  Miss  Dun- 
das and  Mr.  Lascelles,  in  one  voice,  demanded  what  was  the 
matter 

“ Has  not  Mary  told  you  ” returned  her  sister,  languidly 
opening  her  eyes. 

“ No,”  answered  Lascelles,  rubbing  his  hands  with  delighted 
curiosity  , “ come,  let  us  have  it.” 

Euphemia,  pleased  at  this,  and  loving  mystery  with  all  her 
heart,  waved  her  hand  solemnly,  and  in  an  awful  tone  replied. 
Then  it  passes  not  my  lips.” 

“ What,  Phemy  ! ” cried  he,  you  want  us  to  believe  you 
have  seen  a ghost  ? But  you  forget,  they  don’t  walk  at  mid- 
day.” 

“ Believe  what  you  like,”  returned  she,  with  an  air  of  con- 
sequential contempt ; “ I am  satisfied  to  keep  the  secret/^ 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


299 

Miss  Dundas  burst  into  a provoking  laugh  ; and  calling 
; ler  the  most  incorrigible  little  idiot  in  the  world,  encouraged 
j l,ascelles  to  fool  her  to  the  top  of  his  bent.  Determining  to 
gratify  his  spleen,  if  he  could  not  satisfy  his  curiosity,  this  wit- 
i ess  coxcomb  continued  the  whole  day  in  Harley  Street,  for  the 
nere  pleasure  of  tormenting  Euphemia.  From  the  dinner  hour 
intil  twelve  at  night,  neither  his  drowsy  fancy  nor  wakeful  mal- 
ce  could  find  one  other  weapon  of  assault  than  the  stale  jokes 
)f  mysterious  chambers,  lovers  incognito,  or  the  silly  addition 
Df  two  Cupid-struck  sweeps  popping  down  the  chimney  to  pay 
:heir  addresses  to  the  fair  friends.  Diana  talked  of  Jupiter 
with  his  thunder  ; and  patting  her  sister  under  the  chin,  added, 
I cannot  doubt  that  Miss  Beaufort  is  the  favored  Semele  ; 
but,  my  dear,  you  over-acted  your  character  ? As  confidant,  a 
Eew  tears  were  enough  when  your  lady  fainted.’’  During  these 
attacks,  Euphemia  reclined  pompously  on  a sofa,  and  not 
deigning  a reply,  repelled  them  with  much  conceit  and  haughti- 
ness. 

Miss  Beaufort  remained  above  an  hour  alone  in  her  cham- 
ber before  she  ventured  to  go  near  her  aunt.  Hurt  to  the  soul 
that  the  idle  folly  of  Euphemia  should  have  aroused  a terror 
which  had  completely  unveiled  to  the  eyes  of  that  inconsiderate 
girl  the  empire  which  Thaddeus  held  over  her  fate,  Mary,  over- 
whelmed with  shame,  and  arraigning  her  easy  credulity,  threw 
herself  on  her  bed. 

Horror-struck  at  hearing  he  was  led  along  the  streets  in 
chains,  she  could  have  no  other  idea  but  that,  betrayed  into 
the  commission  of  some  dreadful  deed,  he  had  become  amen- 
able to  the  laws,  and  might  suffer  an  ignominious  death.  Those 
thoughts  having  rushed  at  once  on  her  heart,  deprived  her  of 
self-command.  In  the  conviction  of  some  fatal  rencontre,  she 
felt  as  if  her  life,  her  honor,  her  soul,  were  annihilated.  And 
when,  in  consequence  of  her  agonies,  Euphemia  confessed  that 
she  had  in  this  last  matter  told  a falsehood,  the  sudden  peace 
to  her  soul  had  for  an  instant  assumed  the  appearance  of  in- 
sensibility. 

Before  Miss  Beaufort  quitted  her  room,  various  plans  were 
suggested  by  her  anxiety  and  inexperience,  how  to  release  the 
object  of  her  thoughts.  She  found  no  hesitation  in  believing 
him  poor,  and  perhaps  rendered  wretchedly  so  by  the  burden 
of  that  sick  friend,  who,  she  suspected,  might  be  a near  rela- 
tion. At  any  rate,  she  resolved  that  another  sun  should  not 
pass  over  her  head  and  shine  on  him  in  a prison.  Having  de- 
termined to  pay  his  debts  herself,  she  next  thought  of  how  she 


300 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


might  manage  the  affair  without  discovering  the  hand  whence 
the  assistance  came.  Had  her  aunt  been  well  enough  to  leave 
the  house,  she  would  not  have  scrupled  unfolding  to  her  the 
recent  calamity  of  Mr.  Constantine.  But  well  aware  that  Miss 
Dorothy’s  maidenly  nicety  would  be  outraged  at  a young  woman 
appearing  the  sole  mover  in  such  an  affair,  she  conceived  her- 
self obliged  to  withhold  her  confidence  at  present,  and  to  de^ 
cide  on  prosecuting  the  whole  transaction  alone. 

In  consequence  of  these  meditations,  her  spirits  became 
less  discomposed.  Turning  towards  Miss  Dorothy  Somerset’s 
apartments,  she  found  the  good  lady  sipping  her  coffee. 

“ What  is  this  I have  just  heard,  my  dear  Mary } Williams 
tells  me  you  have  been  ill ! ” 

Miss  Beaufort  returned  her  aunt’s  gracious  inquirv  with  an 
affectionate  kiss ; and  informing  her  that  she  had  only  been! 
alarmed  by  an  invention  of  Miss  Euphemia’s,  begged  that  the 
subject  might  drop,  it  being  merely  one  out  of  the  many 
schemes  which  she  believed  that  young  lady  had  devised  to 
render  her  visit  to  London  as  little  pleasant  as  possible.  ' 

Ah  ! ” replied  Miss  Dorothy,  I hope  I shall  be  well 
enough  to  travel  in  the  course  of  a few  days.  I can  now  walk 
with  a stick  ; and  upon  my  word,  I am  heartily  tired  both  of 
Lady  Dundas  and  her  daughters.” 

Mary  expressed  similar  sentiments  ; but  as  the  declaration 
•passed  her  lips,  a sigh  almost  buried  the  last  word.  Go  when 
she  would,  she  must  leave  Constantine  behind  ; leave  him 
without  an  expectation  of  beholding  him  more — without  a hope 
of  penetrating  the  thick  cloud  which  involved  him,  and  with 
which  he  had  ever  baffled  any  attempt  she  had  heard  to  dis- 
cover his  birth  or  misfortunes.  She  wept  over  this  refinement 
on  delicacy,  and  loved  him  dearer  for  his  mystery.” 

When  the  dawn  broke  next  morning,  it  shone  on  Miss  Beau- 
fort’s yet  unclosed  eyes.  Sleep  could  find  no  languid  faculty  in 
her  head  whilst  her  heart  was  agitated  with  plans  for  the  relief 
of  Thaddeus.  The  idea  of  visiting  the  coffee-house  to  which 
she  knew  the  Misses  Dundas  directed  their  letters,  and  of  ask- 
ing  questions  about  a young  and  handsome  man,  made  her 
timidity  shrink. 

“ But,”  exclaimed  she,  “ I am  going  on  an  errand  which 
ought  not  to  spread  a blush  on  the  cheek  of  prudery  itself.  I 
am  going  to  impart  alleviation  to  the  sufferings  of  the  noblest 
creature  that  ever  walked  the  earth  ! ” 

Perhaps  there  are  few  persons  who,  being  auditors  of  this 
speech,  would  have  decided  quite  so  candidly  on  the  supena 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  IV. 


301 


-vre  by  which  it  was  concluded.  Mary  herself  was  not  wholly 
:vested  of  doubt  about  the  issue  of  her  conduct ; but  con- 
|:ious  that  her  motive  was  pure,  she  descended  to  the  break- 
Ist-room  with  a quieter  mind  than  countenance, 
i Never  before  having  had  occasion  to  throw  a gloss  on  her 
^:tions,  she  scarcely  looked  up  during  breakfast.  When  the 
^oth  was  removed,  she  rose  suddenly  from  her  chair,  and  turn- 
'xg  to  Miss  Dorothy,  who  sat  at  the  other  end  of  the  parlor, 
ith  her  foot  on  a stool,  said  in  a low  voice,  ‘‘Good-by,  aunt ! 
j am  going  to  make  some  particular  calls  ; but  I shall  be  back 
1 1 a few  hours.’’  Luckily,  no  one  observed  her  blushing  face 
; hilst  she  spoke,  nor  the  manner  in  which  she  shook  hands 
' ith  the  old  lady  and  hurried  out  of  the  room. 

' Breathless  with  confusion,  she  could  scarcely  stand  when 
i he  arrived  in  her  own  chamber  ; but  aware  that  no  time  ought 
I D be  lost,  she  tied  on  a long,  light  silk  cloak,  of  sober  gray, 

I ver  her  white  morning-dress,  and  covering  her  head  with  a 
I traw  summer  bonnet,  shaded  by  a black  lace  veil,  hesitated  a 
! loment  within  her  chamber-door — her  eyes  filling  with  tears, 
rawn  from  her  heart  by  that  pure  spirit  of  truth  which  had 
ver  been  the  guardian  of  her  conduct ! Looking  up  to  heaven, 
he  sunk  on  her  knees,  and  exclaimed  with  impetuosity, 
Father  of  mercy  ! thou  only  knowest  my  heart ! Direct  me, 
I,  beseech  thee  ! Let  me  not  commit  anything  unworthy  of 
thyself  nor  of  the  unhappy  Constantine — for  whom  I would 
racrifice  my  life,  but  not  my  duty  to  thee  ! ” 

Reassured  by  the  confidence  which  this  simple  act  of 
levotion  inspired,  she  took  her  parasol  and  descended  the 
g^tairs.  The  porter  was  alone  in  the  hall.  She  inquired  for  her 
servant. 

“ He  is  not  returned,  madam,” 

Having  foreseen  the  necessity  of  getting  rid  of  all  attendants, 
he  had  purposely  sent  her  footman  on  an  errand  as  far  as  Ken- 
.ington. 

“ It  is  of  no  consequence,”  returned  she  to  the  porter,  who 
vas  just  going  to  propose  one  of  Lady  Dundas’s  men.  “ I can- 
lot  meet  with  anything  disagreeable  at  this  time  of  day,  so  I 
;hall  walk  alone.” 

The  man  opened  the  door  ; and  with  a bounding  heart 
Mary  hastened  down  the  street,  crossed  the  square,  and  at  the 
Dottom  of  Orchard  Street  stepped  into  a hackney-coach,  which 
>he  ordered  to  drive  to  Slaughter’s  Coffee-house,  St.  Martin’s 
Lane. 

^ She  drew  up  the  glasses  and  closed  her  eyes.  Various 


TITADDEUS  OF  IVARSA  m 


30^ 

thoughts  agitated  her  anxious  mind  whilst  the  carriage  rolled 
along  ; and  when  it  drew  up  at  the  coffee-house,  she  involun^ 
tarily  retreated  into  the  corner.  The  coach-door  was  opened. 

‘‘  Will  you  alight,  ma'am  ? " 

“ No  ; call  a waiter." 

A waiter  appeared;  and  Miss  Beaufort,  in  a tolerably, 
collected  voice,  inquired  whether  Mr.  Constantine  lived  there  1 
No,  ma'am." 

A cold  dew  stood  on  her  forehead  ; but  taking  courage  from 
a latent  and  last  hope,  she  added,  ‘‘  I know  he  has  had  letters 
directed  to  this  place." 

‘‘  Oh  ! I beg  your  pardon,  ma'am  ! " returned  the  man  re- 
collecting himself ; I remember  a person  of  that  name  has 
received  letters  from  hence,  but  they  were  always  fetched  away 
by  a little  girl." 

“ And  do  you  not  know  where  he  lives  ? " 

No,  ma'am,"  answered  he;  “yet  some  one  else  in  the 
house  may  : I will  inquire." 

Miss  Beaufort  bowed  her  head  in  token  of  acknowledgment, 
and  sat  shivering  with  suspense  until  he  returned,  followed  by ' 
another  man. 

“This  person,  ma'am,"  resumed  he,  “says  he  can  tell  you." 

“Thank  you,  thank  you!"  cried  Mary;  then,  blushing  at! 
her  eagerness,  she  stopped  and  drew  back  into  the  carriage. 

“I  cannot  for  certain,"  said  the  man,  “but  I know  the  girl 
very  well  by  sight  who  comes  for  the  letters ; and  I have  often 
seen  her  standing  at  the  door  of  a chandler's  shop  a good  way 
down  the  lane.  I think  it  is  No.  5,  or  6.  I sent  a person  there 
who  came  after  the  same  gentleman  about  a fortnight  ago.  I 
dare  say  he  lives  there." 

Miss  Beaufort's  expectations  sunk  again,  when  she  found 
that  she  had  nothing  but  a dare  say  to  depend  on  ; and  giving 
half-a-crown  to  each  of  her  informers,  she  desired  the  coachman 
to  drive  as  they  would  direct  him. 

While  the  carriage  drove  down  the  lane,  with  a heart  full  of 
fears  she  looked  from  side  to  side,  almost  believing  she  should 
know  by  intuition  the  house  which  had  contained  Constantine. 
When  the  man  checked  his  horses,  and  her  eyes  fell  on  the 
little  mean  dwelling  of  Mrs.  Robson,  she  smothered  a deep  sigh. 

“ Can  this  be  the  house  in  which  Constantine  has  lived 
How  comfortless  ! And  should  it  not,"  thought  she,  as  the 
man  got  off  the  box  to  inquire,  “whither  shall  I go  for  infor- 
mation " 

The  appearance  of  Mrs.  Robson,  and  her  immediate  affirm- 


THADDEt/S  OF  WAESA  W. 


303 

f 

' ative  to  the  question,  “ Are  these  Mr.  Constantine^s  lodgings  ? 
at  once  dispelled  this  last  anxiety.  Encouraged  by  the  motherly 
I expression  of  the  good  woman’s  manner,  Mary  begged  leave  to 
i alight.  Mrs.  Robson  readily  offered  her  arm,  and  with  many 
apologies  for  the  disordered  state  of  the  house,  led  her  up  stairs 
i to  the  room  which  had  been  the  count’s  house. 

Mary  trembled  ; but  seeing  that  everything  depended  on 
■ self-command,  with  apparent  tranquillity  she  received  the  chair 
ithat  was  presented  to  her,  and  turning  her  eyes  from  the  books 
and  drawings  which  told  her  so  truly  in  whose  apartment  she 
! was,  she  desired  Mrs.  Robson,  who  continued  standing,  to  be 
seated.  The  good  woman  obeyed.  After  some  trepidation, 
Mary  asked  where  Mr.  Constantine  was  ? Mrs.  Robson  colored, 
and  looking  at  her  questioner  for  some  time,  as  if  doubting  what 
' to  say,  burst  into  tears. 

Miss  Beaufort’s  ready  eyes  were  much  inclined  to  flow  in 
concert ; but  subduing  the  strong  emotions  which  shook  her, 
she  added,  “ I do  not  come  hither  out  of  impertinent  curiosity. 
I have  heard  of  the  misfortunes  of  Mr.  Constantine.  I am 
well  known  to  his  friends.” 

“ Dear  lady  ! ” cried  the  good  woman,  grasping  at  any  pros- 
pect of  succor  to  her  benefactor  : ‘‘  if  he  has  friends,  whoever 
they  are,  tell  them  he  is  the  noblest,  most  humane  gentleman  in 
the  world.  Tell  them  he  has  saved  me  and  mine  from  the 
deepest  want;  and  now  he  is  sent  to  prison  because  he  cannot 
I pay  the  cruel  doctor  who  attended  the  poor  dead  general.” 

“What!  is  his  friend  dead  ” ejaculated  Mary,  unable  to 
restrain  the  tears  which  now  streamed  over  her  face. 

“ Yes,”  replied  Mrs.  Robson  ; “ poor  old  gentleman  ! he  is 
! dead,  sure  enough  ; and.  Heaven  knows,  many  have  been  the 
' dreary  hours  the  dear  young  man  has  watched  by  his  pillow! 

I He  died  in  that  room.” 

L Miss  Beaufort’s  swimming  eyes  would  not  allow  her  to  dis- 
I cern  objects  through  the  open  door  of  that  apartment  within 
|]which  the  heart  of  Thaddeus  had  undergone  such  variety  of 
I misery.  Forming  an  irresistible  wish  to  know  whether  the  de- 
Lceased  were  any  relation  of  Constantine,  she  paused  a moment 
^o  compose  the  agitation  which  might  betray  her,  and  then 
I"  asked  the  question. 

I “I  thought,  ma’am,”  replied  Mrs.  Robson,  “you  said  you 
: knew  his  friends  ? ” 

“ Only  his  English  ones,”  returned  Mary,  a little  confused 
I at  the  suspicion  this  answer  implied  ; “ I imagined  that  this 
old  gentleman  might  have  been  his  father  or  an  uncle,  or ” 


^04  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

O no,”  interrupted  Mrs.  Robson,  sorrowfully ; he  has 
neither  father,  mother  nor  uncle  in  the  wide  world.  He  once 
told  me  they  were  all  dead,  and  that  he  saw  them  die.  Alas  ! 
sweet  soul  ! What  a power  of  griefs  he  must  have  seen  in  his 
young  life  ! But  Heaven  will  favor  his  at  last  ; for  thought  he 
is  in  misfortune  himself,  he  has  been  a blessing  to  the  widow 
and  the  orphan  ! ” 

“ Do  you  know  the  amount  of  his  debts  ” asked  Miss 
Beaufort. 

‘‘Not  more  than  twenty  pounds,”  returned  Mrs.  Robson, 
“ when  they  took  him  out  of  this  room,  a week  ago,  and  hurried 
him  away  without  letting  me  know  a word  of  the  matter.  I 
believe  to  this  hour  I should  not  have  known  where  he  was,  if 
that  cruel  Mr.  Jackson  had  not  come  to  demand  all  that  Mr. 
Constantine  left  in  my  care.  But  I would  not  let  him  have  it. 
I told  him  if  my  lodger  had  filled  my  house  with  bags  of  gold, 
he  should  not  touch  a shilling ; and  then  he  abused  me,  and 
told  me  Mr.  Constantine  was  in  Newgate.” 

“ In  Newgate  ! ” 

“ Yes,  madam.  I immediately  ran  there,  and  found  him 
more  able  to  comfort  me  than  I was  able  to  speak  to  him.” 

“ Then  be  at  rest,  my  good  woman,”  returned  Miss  Beau- 
fort, rising  from  her  chair ; “ when  you  next  hear  of  Mr. 
Constantine,  he  shall  be  at  liberty.  He  has  friends  who  will 
not  sleep  till  he  is  out  of  prison.” 

“ May  Heaven  bless  you  and  them,  dear  lady  ! ” cried  Mrs. 
Robson,  weeping  with  joy  ; “ for  they  will  relieve  the  most 
generous  heart  alive.  But  I must  tell  you,”  added  she,  with 
recollecting  energy,  “ that  the  costs  of  the  business  with  raise 
it  to  some  pounds  more.  For  that  wicked  Jackson,  getting 
frightened  to  stand  alone  in  what  he  had  done,  went  and  per- 
suaded poor  weak-minded  Mr.  Watson,  the  undertaker,  to  put 
in  a detainer  against  Mr.  Constantine  for  the  remainder  of  his 
bill.  So  I fear  it  will  be  full  thirty  pounds  before  his  kind 
friends  can  release  him.” 

Mary  replied,  “ Be  not  alarmed  : all  shall  be  done.”  While 
she  spoke,  she  cast  a wistful  look  on  the  drawings  on  the 
bureau ; then  withdrawing  her  eyes  with  a deep  sigh,  she  de- 
scended the  stairs.  At  the  street-door  she  took  Mrs.  Robson's 
hand,  and  not  relinquishing  it  until  she  was  seated  in  the  coach, 
pressed  it  warmly,  and  leaving  within  it  a purse  of  twenty 
guineas,  ordered  the  man  to  return  whence  he  came. 

Now  that  the  temerity  of  going  herself  to  learn  the  parti- 
culars of  Mr.  Constantine’s  fate  had  been  achieved,  determined 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 


305 

I,  4s  she  w%.s  not  to  close  her  eyes  whilst  the  man  whom  she 
I valued  above  her  life  remained  a prisoner  and  in  sorrow,  she 
I thought  it  best  to  consult  with  Miss  Dorothy  respecting  the 
speediest  means  of  compassing  his  emancipation. 

In  Oxford  Road  she  desired  the  coachman  to  proceed  to 
Harley  Street.  She  alighted  at  Lady  Dundas’s  door,  paid  him 
^his  fare,  and  stepped  into  the  hall  before  she  perceived  that  a 
travelling-carriage  belonging  to  her  guardian  had  driven  away 
to  afford  room  for  her  humble  equipage. 

Is  Sir  Robert  Somerset  come  to  town  } ” she  hastily  in- 
quired of  the  porter. 

‘‘  No,  madam  ; but  Mr.  Somerset  is  just  arrived.’’ 

I The  next  minute  Miss  Beaufort  was  in  the  drawing-room, 
, and  clasped  within  the  arms  of  her  cousin, 
j “ Dear  Mary  ! ” — ‘‘  Dear  Pembroke  ! ’’  were  the  first  words 
I which  passed  between  these  two  affectionate  relatives. 

* Miss  Dorothy,  who  doted  on  her  nephew,  taking  his  hand 
I as  he  seated  himself  between  her  and  his  cousin,  said,  in  a con- 
j ^ratulatory  voice,  Mary,  our  dear  boy  has  come  to  town 
; purposely  to  take  us  down.” 

I ‘‘Yes,  indeed,”  rejoined  he  \ “ my  father  is  moped  to  death 
for  want  of  you  both.  You  know  I am  a sad  renegade  ! Lord 
Avon  and  Mr.  Loftus  have  been  gone  these  ten  days  to  his 
lordship’s  aunt’s  in  Bedfordshire ; and  Sir  Robert  is  so  com- 
pletely weary  of  solitude,  that  he  has  commanded  me  ” — bow- 
ing to  the  other  ladies — “ to  run  off  with  all  the  fair  inhabitants 
of  this  house  sooner  than  leave  you  behind.” 

I “ I shall  be  happy  at  another  opportunity  to  visit  Somerset 
j Hall,”  returned  Lady  Dundas ; “but  I am  constrained  to  spend 
this  summer  in  Dumbartonshire.  I have  not  yet  seen  the  estate 
I my  poor  dear  Sir  Hector  bought  of  the  Duke  of  Dunbar.” 

I Pembroke  offered  no  attempt  to  shake  this  resolution.  In 
■ the  two  or  three  morning  calls  he  had  formerly  made  with  Sir 
Robert  Somerset  on  the  rich  widow,  he  saw  sufficient  to  make 
I him  regard  her  arrogant  vulgarity  with  disgust ; and  for  her 
ij  daughters,  they  were  of  too  artificial  a stamp  to  occupy  his  mind 
( any  longer  than  with  a magic-lantern  impression  of  a tall  woman 
I with  bold  eyes,  and  the  prettiest  yet  most  affected  little  fairy  he 
had  ever  beheld. 

After  half  an  hour’s  conversation  with  this  family  group. 
Miss  Beaufort  sunk  into  abstraction.  During  the  first  month 
of  Mary’s  acquaintance  with  Thaddeus,  she  did  not  neglect  to 
.mention  in  her  correspondence  with  Pembroke  having  met  with 
a very  interesting  and  accomplished  emigrant,  in  the  capacity 
i 20 


2o6  THADDEUS  op  WARSAW. 

of  a tutor  at  Lady  Dundas’s.  But  her  cousin,  in  his  replies, 
beginning  to  banter  her  on  pity  being  allied  to  love,  she  had 
gradually  dropped  all  mention  of  Constantine’s  name,  as  she 
too  truly  found  by  what  insensible  degrees  the  union  had  taker 
place  within  her  own  breast.  She  remembered  these  particulars, 
whilst  a new  method  of.  accomplishing  her  present  projeci 
suggested  itself ; and  determining  (however  extraordinary  he! 
conduct  might  seem)  to  rest  on  the  rectitude  of  her  motives,  i 
man  being  the  most  proper  person  to  transact  such  a businesi 
with  propriety,  she  resolved  to  engage  Pembroke  for  her  agent 
without  troubling  Miss  Dorothy  about  the  affair. 

So  deeply  was  she  absorbed  in  these  reflections,  that  Somet 
set,  observing  her  vacant  eye  fixed  on  the  opposite  windowi 
took  her  hand  with  an  arch  smile,  and  exclaimed. 

“ Mary  ! What  is  the  matter  ? I hope.  Lady  Dundas,  yoi 
have  not  suffered  any  one  to  run  away  with  her  heart  ? Yo; 
know  I am  her  cousin,  and  it  is  my  inalienable  right.” 

Lady  Dundas  replied  that  young  ladies  best  know  their  ow 
S0cr6ts. 

“ That  may  be,  madam,”  rejoined  he ; “ but  I won’t  alio* 
Miss  Beaufort  to  know  anything  that  she  does  not  transfer  t 
me.  Is  not  that  true,  Mary  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  whispered  she,  coloring ; “ and  the  sooner  you  affor 
me  an  opportunity  to  interest  you  in  one,  the  more  I shall  b 
obliged  to  you.” 

Pembroke  pressed  her  hand  in  token  of  assent;  and 
desultory  conversation  continuing  for  another  half-hour,  Mii 
Beaufort,  who  dreaded  the  wasting  one  minute  in  a days 
momentous  to  her  peace,  sat  uneasily  until  her  aunt  propose 
retiring  to  her  dressing-room  a while,  and  requested  Pembrol 
to  assist  her  up  stairs. 

When  he  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  to  his  extreme  sa 
isfaction  he  found  all  the  party  were  gone  to  prepare  for  the 
usual  drives,  excepting  Miss  Beaufort,  who  was  standing  by  or 
of  the  windows,  lost  in  thought.  He  approached  her,  and  ta 
ing  her  hand — 

“ Come,  my  dear  cousin,”  said  he,  “ how  can  I oblige  you : 

Mary  struggled  with  her  confusion.  Had  she  love 
Thaddeus  less,  she  found  she  could  with  greater  ease  ha: 
related  the  interest  which  she  took  in  his  fate.  She  tried 
speak  distinctly,  and  she  accomplished  it,  although  her  burnii 
cheek  and  downcast  look  told  to  the  fixed  eye  of  Pembrol 
what  she  vainly  attempted  to  conceal. 

“You  can,  indeed,  oblige  me  ! You  must  remember  a Ai 
Constantine ! I once  mentioned  him  to  you  in  my  lettets. 


TMADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


3®7 


I do,  Mary.  You  thought  him  amiable  ! 

‘‘  He  was  the  intimate  friend  of  Lady  Tinemouth,’’  returned 
she,  striving  to  look  up ; but  the  piercing  expression  she  met 
from  the  eyes  of  Somerset,  beating  hers  down  again,  covered 
her  face  and  neck  with  deeper  blushes.  She  panted  for  breath. 

Rely  on  me,^’  said  Pembroke,  pitying  her  embarrassment, 
whilst  he  dreaded  that  her  gentle  heart  had  indeed  become  the 
victim  of  some  accomplished  and  insidious  foreigner — rely  on 
me,  my  beloved  cousin  : consider  me  as  a brother.  If  you  have 
entangled  yourself 

Miss  Beaiifori  guessed  what  he  would  say,  and  interrupting 
him,  added,  with  a more  assured  air,  “No,  Pembroke,  I have 
no  entanglements.  I am  going  to  ask  your  friefidly  assistance 
in  behalf  of  a brave  and  unfortunate  Polander.^^  Pembroke 
reddened  and  she  went  on.  “ Mr.  Constantine  is  a gentleman. 
Lady  Tinemouth  tells  me  he  has  been  a soldier,  and  that  he 
lost  all  his  possessions  in  the  ruin  of  his  country.  Her  lady- 
ship introduced  him  here.  I have  seen  him  often,  and  I know 
him  to  be  worthy  the  esteem  of  every  honorable  heart.  He  is 
now  in  prison,  in  Newgate,  for  a debt  of  about  thirty  pounds, 
and  I ask  you  to  go  and  release  him.  That  is  my  request — my 
secret ; and  I confide  in  your  discretion  that  you  will  keep  it 
even  from  him.^^ 

“ Generous,  beloved  Mary  ! cried  Pembroke,  pressing  her 
hand  ; “ it  is  thus  you  always  act.  Possessed  of  all  the  softness 
of  thy  sex,  dearest  girl,’’  added  he,  still  more  affectionately, 
“ nature  has  not  alloyed  it  with  one  particle  of  weakness ! ” 

Miss  Beaufort  .smiled  and  sighed.  If  to  love  tenderly,  to 
be  devoted  life  and  soul  to  one  being,  whom  she  considered  as 
the  most  perfect  work  of  creation,  be  weakness,  Mary  was  the 
weakest  of  the  weak ; and  with  a languid  despondence  at  her 
heart,  she  was  opening  her  lips  to  give  some  directions  to  her 
cousin,  when  the  attention  of  both  was  arrested  by  a shrill  noise 
of  speakers  talking  above  stairs.  Before  the  cousins  had  time 
to  make  an  observation,  the  disputants  descended  towards  the 
drawing-room,  and  bursting  open  the  door  with  a violent  clamor, 
presented  the  enraged  figure  of  Lady  Dundas  followed  by  Diana, 
who,  with  a no  less  swollen  countenance,  was  scolding  vocifer- 
ously, and  dragging  forward  the  weeping  Euphemia. 

“ Ladies  ! ladies  ! ” exclaimed  Somerset,  amazed  at  so  ex- 
traordinary a scene  ; “ what  has  happened  ? ” 

Lady  Dundas  lifted  up  her  clenched  hand  in  a passion. 

“ A jade  ! — a hussy  ! ” cried  her  vulgar  ladyship,  incapable 
of  articulating  more. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


\ 


30S 


Miss  Dundas,  still  grasping  the  hands  of  her  struggling 
sister,  broke  out  next,  and  turning  furiously  towards  Mary,  ex- 
claimed, “You  see,  madam,  what  disgrace  your  ridiculous 
conduct  to  that  vagabond  foreigner  has  brought  on  our  family  1 
This  bad  girl  has  followed  your  example,  and  done  worse — she 
has  fallen  in  love  with  him  ! ” 

Shocked,  and  trembling  at  so  rude  an  accusation,  Miss 
Beaufort  was  unable  to  speak.  Lost  in  wonder,  and  incensed 
at  his  cousin’s  goodness  having  been  the  dupe  of  imposition, 
Pembroke  stood  silent,  whilst  Lady  Dundas  took  up  the  subject. 

“ A}^,”  cried  she,  shaking  her  daughter  by  the  shoulder^ 
“ you  little  minx  ! if  your  sister  had  not  picked  up  these  abomi- 
nable verses  you  chose  to  write  on  the  absence  of  this  beggarly 
fellow,  I suppose  you  would  have  finished  the  business  by  run- 
ning ofi  with  him  ! But  you  shall  go  down  to  Scotland,  and  be 
locked  up  for  months.  I won’t  have  Sir  Hector  Dundas’s 
family  disgraced  by  a daughter  of  mine.” 

“ For  pity’s  sake.  Lady  Dundas,”  said  Pembroke,  stepping 
between  her  shrewish  ladyship  and  the  trembling  Euphemia 
“ do  compose  yourself.  I dare  say  your  daughter  is  pardonable 
In  these  cases,  the  fault  in  general  lies  with  our  sex.  We  arfl 
the  deluders.” 

Mary  was  obliged  to  reseat  herself  ] and  in  pale  attentioi 
she  listened  for  the  reply  of  the  affrighted  Euphemia,  who,  hal 
assured  that  her  whim  of  creating  a mutual  passion  in  th< 
breast  of  Thaddeus  was  no  longer  tenable,  without  either  sham*, 
or  remorse  she  exclaimed,  “ Indeed,  Mr.  Somerset,  you  an 
right ; I never  should  have  thought  of  Mr.  Constantine  if  h- 
had  not  teased  me  every  time  he  came  with  his  devoted  love. 

Miss  Beaufort  rose  hastily  from  her  chair.  Though  Ei 
phemia  colored  at  the  suddenness  of  this  motion,  and  the  im 
mediate  flash  she  met  from  her  eye,  she  went  on  : “ I kno^ 
Miss  Beaufort  will  deny  it,  because  she  thinks  he  is  in  lov 
with  her  * but  indeed,  indeed,  he  has  sworn  a thousand  time 
on  his  knees  that  he  was  a Russian  nobleman  in  disguise,  an« 
adored  me  above  every  one  else  in  the  world.”  ^ ^ ^ ^ 

“ Villain  ! ” cried  Pembroke,  inflamed  with  indignation  2 
his  double  conduct.  Afraid  to  read  in  the  expressive  count! 
nance  of  Mary  her  shame  and  horror  at  this  discovery,  he  turr^ 
his  eyes  on  her  with  trepidation  ; when,  to  his  surprise,  he  b* 
held  her  standing  perfectly  unmoved  by  the  side  of  the  sol 
from  which  she  had  arisen.  She  advance:.  • . "aim  ste 
towards  Euphemia,  and  taking  hold  of  the  nand  which  conceale 
her  face  whilst  uttering  this  last  talsehood,  she  drew  it  awa; 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


309 

.nd  regarding  her  with  a serene  but  penetrating  look,  she  said  ; 
I'  Euphemia  ! you  well  know  that  you  are  slandering  an  inno- 
^:ent  and  unfortunate  man.  You  know  that  never  in  his  life 
lid  he  give  you  the  slightest  reason  to  suppose  that  he  was 
ittached  to  you  ; for  myself,  I can  also  clear  him  of  making 
'■^)rofessions  to  me.  Upon  the  honor  of  my  word,  I declare,’^ 
idded  she,  addressing  herself  to  the  whole  group,  ‘‘  that  he 
fiever  breathed  a sentence  to  me  beyond  mere  respect.  By 
his  last  deviation  of  Euphemia  from  truth,  you  may  form  an 
jstimate  how  far  the  rest  she  has  alleged  deserves  credit.” 

The  young  lady  burst  into  a vehement  passion  of  tears. 

‘‘  I will  not  be  browbeaten  and  insulted.  Miss  Beaufort ! ” 
':ried  she,  taking  refuge  in  noise,  since  right  had  deserted  her. 

‘ You  know  you  would  fight  his  battles  through  thick  and  thin, 
^dse  you  would  not  have  fallen  into  fits  yesterday  when  I told 
you  he  was  sent  to  jail.” 

This  last  assault  struck  Mary  motionless  ; and  Lady  Dundas, 
lifting  up  her  hands,  exclaimed,  “ Good  la  f keep  me  from  the 
forward  misses  of  these  times  ! As  for  you.  Miss  Pmphemia,” 
added  she,  seizing  her  daughter  by  the  arm,  ‘‘you  shall  leave 
town  to-morrow  morning.  I will  have  no  more  tutoring  and 
falling  in  love  in  my  Irouse  ; and  for  you.  Miss  Beaufort,”  turn- 
ing to  Mary,  (who,  having  recovered  herself,  stood  calmly  at  a 
little  distance,)  I shall  take  care  to  warn  Miss  Dorothy  Som- 
erset to  keep  an  eye  over  your  conduct.” 

Madam,”  replied  she,  indignantly,  “ I shall  never  do  any- 
thing which  can  dishonor  either  my  family  or  myself ; and  of 
that  Miss  Dorothy  Somerset  is  too  well  assured  to  doubt  for 
an  instant,  even  should  calumny  be  as  busy  with  me  as  it  has 
been  injurious  to  Mr.  Constantine.” 

With  the  words  of  Mrs.  Robson  suddenly  reverberating  on 
her  heart,  “ He  has  no  father,  no  mother,  no  kindred  in  this  wide 
world  ! ” she  walked  towards  the  door.  When  she  passed  Mr. 
Somerset,  who  stood  bewildered  and  frowning  near  Miss  Dundas, 
she  turned  her  eyes  on  her  cousin,  full  of  the  effulgent  pity  in 
her  soul,  and  said,  in  a collected  and  decisive  voice,  “ Pembroke, 
I shall  leave  the  room  ; but,  remember,  I do  not  release  you 
from  your  engagement.” 

Staggered  by  the  open  firmness  of  her  manner,  he  looked 
after  her  as  she  withdrew,  and  was  almost  inclined  to  believe 
that  she  possessed  the  right  side  of  the  argument.  Malice  did 
not  allow  him  to  think  so  long.  The  moment  the  door  closed 
on  her,  both  the  sisters  fell  on  him  pell-mell  ; and  the  preju- 
diced illiberality  of  the  one,  supported  by  the  ready  falsehoods 


310 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


of  the  other,  soon  dislodged  all  favorable  impressions  from  the 
mind  of  Somerset,  and  filled  him  anew  with  displeasure. 

In  the  midst  of  Diana’s  third  harangue.  Lady  Dundas  having 
ordered  Euphemia  to  be  taken  to  her  chamber,  Mr.  Somerset 
was  left  alone,  more  incensed  than  ever  against  the  object  of 
their  invectives,  whom  he  now  considered  in  the  light  of  an 
adventurer,  concealing  his  poverty,  and  perhaps  his  crimes, 
beneath  a garb  of  lies.  That  such  a character,  by  means  of  a 
fine  person  and  a few  meretricious  talents,  could  work  himself 
into  the  confidence  of  Mary  Beaufort,  pierced  her  cousin  to  the 
soul ; and  as  he  mounted  the  stairs  with  an  intent  to  seek  her 
in  her  dressing-room,  he  almost  resolved  to  refuse  obeying  her 
commands. 

When  he  opened  the  room-door,  he  found  Miss  Beaufort 
and  his  aunt.  The  instant  he  appeared,  the  ever-benevolent 
face  of  Miss  Dorothy  contracted  into  a frown. 

“ Nephew,”  cried  she,  I shall  not  take  it  well  of  you  if 
you  give  stronger  credence  to  the  passionate  and  vulgar  asser- 
tions of  Lady  Dundas  and  her  daughters  than  you  choose  to 
bestow  on  the  tried  veracity  of  your  cousin  Mary.” 

Pembroke  was  conscious  that  if  his  countenance  had  been 
a faithful  transcript  of  his  mind.  Miss  Beaufort  did  not  err  in 
supposing  he  believed  the  foreigner  to  be  a villain.  Knowing 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  relinquish  his  reason 
into  what  he  now  denominated  the  partial  hands  of  his  aunt 
and  cousin,  he  persisted  in  his  opinion  to  both  the  ladies,  that 
their  unsuspicious  natures  had  been  rendered  subservient  to 
knavery  and  artifice. 

“ I would  not,  my  dear  madam,”  said  he,  addressing  Miss 
Dorothy,  “ think  so  meanly  of  your  sex  as  to  imagine  that  such 
atrocity  can  exist  in  the  female  heart  as  could  give  birth  to 
ruinous  and  unprovoked  calumnies  against  an  innocent  man. 
I cannot  suspect  the  Misses  Dundas  of  such  needless  guilt, 
particularly  poor  Euphemia,  whom  I truly  pity.  Lady  Dundas 
forced  me  to  read  her  verses,  and  they  were  too  full  of  love 
and  regret  for  this  adventurer  to  come  from  the  same  breast 
which  could  wantonly  blacken  his  character.  Such  wicked  in- 
consistencies in  so  young  a woman  are  not  half  so  probable  as 
that  you,  my  dear  aunt  and  cousin,  have  been  deceived. 

“Nephew,”  returned  the  old  lady,  “you  are  very  peremptory. 
Methinks  a little  more  lenity  of  opinion  would  better  become 
your  youth  ! I knew  nothing  of  this  unhappy  young  man’s 
present  distress  until  Miss  Beaufort  mentioned  it  to  me  ; but 
before  she  breathed  a word  in  his  favor,  I had  conceived  a very 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


311 

igh  respect  for  his  merits.  From  the  first  hour  in  which  I 
aw  him,  I gathered  by  his  deportment  that  he  must  be  a gen- 
leman,  besides  a previous  act  of  benevolent  bravery,  in  rescu- 
ig  at  the  hazard  of  his  own  life  two  poor  children  from  a 
ouse  in  flames — in  all  this  I saw  he  must  have  been  born  far 
bove  his  fortunes.  I thought  so  ; I still  think  so  ; and,  not- 
Hthstanding  all  that  the  Dundasses  may  choose  to  fabricate,  I 
ra  determined  to  believe  the  assertions  of  an  honest  counte- 
ance.’’ 

Pembroke  smiled,  whilst  he  forced  his  aunt’s  reluctant  hand 
ito  his,  and  said,  ‘‘  I see,  my  dear  madam,  you  are  bigoted  to 
le  idol  of  your  own  fancy ! I do  not  presume  to  doubt  this 
Ir.  Constantine’s  lucky  exploits,  nor  his  enchantments  ; but 
ou  must  pardon  me  if  I keep  my  senses  at  liberty.  I shall 
link  of  him  as  I could  almost  swear  he  deserves,  although  I 
m aware  that  I hazard  your  affection  by  my  firmness.”  He 
len  turned  to  Mary,  who,  with  a swelling  and  distressed  heart, 
as  standing  by  the  chimney.  “ Forgive  me,  my  dearest  cousin,” 
Dntinued  he,  addressing  her  in  a softened  voice,  “ that  I am 
>rced  to  appear  harsh.  It  is  the  first  time  I ever  dissented 
! om  you  ; it  is  the  first  time  I ever  thought  you  prejudiced  ! ” 

I Miss  Beaufort  drew  the  back  of  her  hand  over  her  glistening 
! /■es.  All  the  tender  affections  of  Pembroke’s  bosom  smote 
m at  once,  and  throwing  his  arms  around  his  cousin’s  waist, 
^ strained  her  to  his  breast,  and  added,  “ Ah  ! why,  dear  girl, 
ust  I love  you  better  for  thus  giving  me  pain  ? Every  way 
y darling  Mary  is  more  estimable.  Even  now,  whilst  I op- 
I Dse  you,  I am  sure,  though  your  goodness  is  abused,  it  was 
leated  into  error  by  the  affectation  of  honorable  impulses  and 
sasters  ! ” 

Miss  Beaufort  thought  that  if  the  prudence  of  reserve  and 
i icorum  dictated  silence  in  some  circumstances,  in  others  a 
I 'udence  of  a higher  order  would  justify  her  in  declaring  her 
|:ntiments.  Accordingly  she  withdrew  from  the  clasping  arms 
' Mr.  Somerset,  and  whilst  her  beautiful  figure  seemed  to 
, late  into  more  than  its  usual  dignity,  she  mildly  replied  : 

Think  what  you  please,  Pembroke  ; I shall  not  contend 
ith  you.  Mr.  Constantine  is  of  a nature  not  to  be  hidden  by 
)scurity  ; his  character  will  defend  itself ; and  all  that  I have 
. add  is  this,  I do  not  release  you  from  your  promise.  Could 
woman  transact  the  affair  with  propriety,  I would  not  keep 
•u  to  so  disagreeable  an  office ; but  I have  passed  my  word  to 
[-yself  that  I will  neither  slumber  nor  sleep  till  he  is  out  of 
1 ison.”  She  put  a pocket-book  into  Pembroke’s  hand,  and 


312 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


added,  “ Take  that,  my  dear  cousin  ; and  without  suffering 
a syllable  to  transpire  by  which  he  may  suspect  who  served 
him,  accomplish  what  I have  desired,  acting  by  the  memor- 
andum you  will  find  within/’ 

I will  obe}  you,  Mary,”  returned  he  ; but  I am  sorry 
that  such  rare  enthusiasm  was  not  awakened  by  a worthier  ob- 
ject. When  you  see  me  again,  I hope  I shall  be  enabled  to 
say  that  your  ill-placed  generosity  is  satisfied.” 

“ Fie,  nephew,  fie  ! ” cried  Miss  Dorothy ; ‘‘  I could  not 
have  supposed  you  capable  of  conferring  a favor  so  ungra- 
ciously.” 

Pained  at  what  he  called  the  obstinate  infatuation  of  Miss 
Beaufort,  and  if  possible  more  chagrined  by  what  he  considered 
the  blind  and  absurd  encouragement  of  his  aunt,  Mr.  Somerset 
lost  the  whole  of  her  last  reprimand  in  his  hurry  to  quit  the 
room. 

Disturbed,  displeased,  and  anxious,  he  stepped  into  a 
hackney-coach  ; and  ordering  it  to  drive  to  Newgate,  called  on 
the  way  at  Lincoln’s  Inn,  to  take  up  a confidential  clerk  of  his 
father’s  law-agent  there,  determining  by  his  assistance  to  go 
through  the  business  without  exposing  himself  to  any  interview 
with  a man  whom  he  believed  to  be  an  artful  and  unprincipled 
villain. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

“ Calumny  is  the  pastime  of  little  minds,  and  the  venomed  shaft  of 
base  ones.” 

The  first  week  of  the  count’s  confinement  was  rendered  in 
some  degree  tolerable  by  the  daily  visits  of  Mrs.  Robson,  who, 
having  brought  his  drawing  materials,  enabled  him,  through  he 
means  of  the  always  punctual  printseller,  to  purchase  some 
civility  from  the  brutal  and  hardened  people  who  were  his 
keepers.  After  the  good  woman  had  performed  her  diurnal 
kindness,  Thaddeus  did  not  suffer  his  eyes  to  turn  one  moment 
on  the  dismal  loneliness  of  his  abject  prison,  but  took  up  his 
pencil  to  accomplish  its  daily  task,  and  when  done,  he  opened 
some  one  of  his  books,  which  had  also  been  brought  to  him, 
and  so  sought  to  beguile  his  almost  hopeless  hours^ — hopeless 


THADDEUS  OE  \VAKSA]V. 


313 


with  regard  to  any  human  hope  of  ever  re-passing  those  incar- 
;eratinf  walls.  For  who  was  there  but  those  who  had  put  him 
;here  who  could  now  know  even  of  his  existence . . 

The  elasticity  and  pressing  enterprise  of  soul  i^e’-ent  in 
puth  renders  no  calamity  so  difficult  to  be  borne  as  ffiat  which 
letters  its  best  years  and  most  active  virtues  un 
any  captivity.  Thaddeus  felt  this  benumbing  effect  in  every 
pulsed  his'^rdent  and  energetic  heart.  He  retraced  all  that 
he  had  been.  He  looked  on  what  he  was  Thot^^h  he  had 
reaped  glory  when  a boy,  his  “ noon  of  manhood,  his  evening 
sun  was  to  waste  its  light  and  set  in  an  English  prison. 

At  short  and  distant  intervals  such  melancholy  reveries  gave 
place  to  the  pitying  image  of  Mary  Beaufort.  _ It  sometii  . 
Visited  him  in  Uie  day— it  always  was  his  companion  during  the 
night.  He  courted  her  lovely  ideal  as  a spell  that  for  a w 11 
stole  him  from  painful  reflections.  With  an  entranced  soul  1 
recalled  every  lineament  of  her  angel-like  face,  every  tender 
svmipathy  of  tLt  gentle  voice  which  had  hurried  him  into  ffie 
rLhness  of  touching  her  hand.  One  moment  ^s^’; 
gold  chain  closer  to  his  heart,  almost  believing  what  Lad>_  T 
mouth  had  insinuated;  the  next,  he  would  over  his  c 

dulity,  and  return  with  despondent  though  equally  uitense  lov 
to  the  contemplation  of  her  virtues,  independent  01  himselt. 

The  more  he  meditated  on  the  purity  of  her  manners,  t e 
elevated  principles  to  which  he  could  trace  her  actions,  and 
above  all,  on  the  benevolent  confidence  with  which  she  had 
ever  treated  him  (a  man  contemned  by  one  part  of  her  acquaint 
ance,  and  merely  received  on  trust  by  the  remainder),  1 
he  found  reasons  to  regard  that  character  with  bis  grateful  aib 
miration.  When  he  drew  a comparison  between  Miss  Beaffioid 
and  most  women  of  the  same  quality  whom  b®  ^ , 

England  and  in  other  countries,  he  contemplated  with  delight 
wonder  that  spotless  mind  which,  having  passed  through  t 
various  ordeals  annexed  to  wealth  and  fashion,  still  bore  itseit 
uncontaminated.  She  was  beautiful,  and  she  did  not  regard  it , 
she  was  accomplished,  but  she  did  not  attempt  a display  ; what 
' she  acquired  from  education,  the  graces  had  so 
I with  her  native  intelligence,  that  the  perfection  of  her  character 
I seemed  to  have  been  stamped  at  once  by  the  beneficent 

' of  Providence.  . . . . 

Never  were  her  numberless  attractions  so  fascinating^  to 

Thaddeus  as  when  he  witnessed  the  generous 

which,  forgetful  ot  her  own  almost  unparalleled  ta  ents,  s 

pointed  out  merit  and  dispensed  applause  to  the  deservin^,. 


314 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW 


Miss  Beaufort’s  nature  was  gentle  and  benevolent ; but  it  wsa 
likewise  distinguishing  and  animated.  Whilst  the  count  saw 
that  the  urbanity  of  her  disposition  made  her  politeness  univer- 
sal, he  perceived  that  neither  rank,  riches  nor  splendor,  when 
alone,  could  extract  from  her  bosom  one  spark  of  that  lambent 
flame  which  streamed  from  her  heart,  like  fire  to  the  sun, 
towards  the  united  glory  of  genius  and  virtue. 

He  dwelt  on  her  lovely,  unsophisticated  character  with  an 
enthusiasm  bordering  on  idolatry.  He  recollected  that  she  had 
been  educated  by  the  mother  of  Pembroke  Somerset ; and  turn- 
ing from  the  double  remembrance  with  a sigh  fraught  with  all 
the  bitterness  and  sweetness  of  love,  he  acknowledged  how 
much  wisdom  (which  includes  virtue)  gives  spirit  and  immor- 
tality to  beauty.  Yes,”  cried  he,  it  is  the  fragrance  of  the 
flower,  which  lives  after  the  bloom  is  withered.” 

From  sifch  reflections  of  various  hues  Thaddeus  was  one 
evening  awakened  by  the  entrance  of  the  chief  jailer  into  his 
cell.  His  was  an  unusual  visit.  He  presented  a sealed  packet 
to  his  prisoner,  saying  he  brought  it  from  a stranger,  v/ho,  hav- 
ing paid  the  debts  and  costs  for  which  he  was  confined,  and  all 
the  prison  dues,  had  immediately  gone  away,  leaving  that  packet 
to  be  instantly  delivered  into  the  hand  of  Mr.  Constantine. 

While  Thaddeus,  scarcely  crediting  the  information,  was 
hastily  opening  the  packet,  hoping  it  might  throw  some  light  on 
his  benefactor,  the  jailer  civilly  withdrew.  But  the  breaking  of 
the  seal  discovered  a blank  cover  only,  save  these  words,  in  a 
handwriting  unknown  to  him — ‘‘You  are  free!” — and  bank  of 
England  notes  to  the  amount  of  fifty  pounds. 

Overwhelmed  with  surprise,  gratitude  to  Heaven,  and  to 
this  generous  unknown,  he  sank  down  into  his  solitary  chair, 
and  tried  to  conjecture  who  could  have  acted  the  part  of  such 
a friend,  and  yet  be  so  careful  to  conceal  that  act  of  friendship. 

He  had  seen  sufficient  proofs  of  a heedless  want  of  benevo- 
lence in  Miss  Euphemia  Dundas  to  lead  him  to  suppbse  that 
she  could  not  be  so  munificent,  and  solicitous  of  secrecy.  Be- 
sides, how  could  she  have  learned  his  situation  ? He  thought 
it  was  impossible ; and  that  impossibility  compelled  an  erratic 
hope  of  his  present  liberty  having  sprung  from  the  goodness  of 
Miss  Beaufort  to  pass  by  him  with  a painful  swiftness. 

“Alas  ! ” cried  he,  starting  from  his  chair,  “ it  is  .he  inde- 
fatigable spirit  of  Lady  Sara  Ross  that  I recognize  in  this  deed  I 
The  generous  but  unhappy  interest  which  she  yet  takes  in  my 
fate  has  discovered  my  last  misfortune,  and  thus  she  seeks  to 
relieve  me  1 ' 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W, 


315 

The  moment  he  conceived  this  idea,  he  believed  it ; and 
iking  up  a pen,  with  a grateful  though  disturbed  soul  he  ad- 
ressed  to  her  the  following  guarded  note  : — 

‘'To  THE  Right  Honorable  Lady  Sara  Ross. 

“ An  unfortunate  exile,  who  is  already  overpowered  by  a 
311  se  of  not  having  deserved  the  notice  which  Lady  Sara  Ross 
as  deigned  to  take  of  his  misfortunes,  was  this  day  liberated 
*om  prison  in  a manner  so  generous  and  delicate,  that  he  can 
scribe  the  act  to  no  other  than  the  noble  heart  of  her  lady- 
hip. 

“ The  object  of  this  bounty,  bending  under  a weight  of  ob- 
gations  which  he  cannot  repay,  begs  permission  to  re-en- 
lose  the  bills  which  Lady  Sara’s  agent  transmitted  to  him  ; 
ut  as  the  deed  which  procures  his  freedom  cannot  be  recalled, 
nth  the  most  grateful  emotions  he  accepts  that  new  instance 
f her  ladyship’s  goodness.” 

Thaddeus  was  on  the  point  of  asking  one  of  the  turnkeys 
D send  him  some  trusty  person  to  take  this  letter  to  St.  James, 
dace,  when,  recollecting  the  impropriety  of  making  any  inmate 
f Newgate  his  messenger  to  Lady  Sara,  he  was  determining 
0 remove  immediately  to  St.  Martin’s  Lane,  and  thence  dis- 
•atch  his  packet  to  his  generous  friend,  when  Mrs.  Robson 
erself  was  announced  by  his  turnkey,  who,  as  customary,  dis- 
ppeared  the  moment  he  had  let  her  in.  She  hastened  forward 

0 him  with  an  animated  countenance,  and  exclaimed,  before 
e had  time  to  speak,  “ Dear  sir,  I have  seen  a dear,  sweet 
idy,  who  has  promised  me  not  to  sleep  till  you  are  out  of  this 
lorrid  place  ! ” 

The  suspicions  of  the  count,  that  his  benefactress  was  in-> 
lieed  Lady  Sara  Ross,  were  now  confirmed.  Seating  his  warin- 
liearted  landlady  in  the  only  chair  his  apartment  contained,  to 

1 atisfy  her  humility,  he  took  his  station  on  the  table,  and  then 
S aid  : " The  lady  has  already  fulfilled  her  engagement.  I 
1 m free,  and  I only  wait  for  a hackney-coach — which  I shall 
''  end  for  immediately — to  take  me  back  to  your  kind  home.” 

At  this  assurance  the  delighted  Mrs.  Robson,  crying  and 
i aughing  by  turns,  did  not  cease  her  ejaculations  of  joy  until 
he  turnkey,  whom  he  had  recalled  to  give  the  order  for  the 
' oach,  returned  to  say  that  it  was  in  readiness. 

He  took  up  his  late  prisoner’s  small  portmanteau,  with  the 
I Irawing-materials^  &c.,  which  had  been  brought  to  him  during 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 


316 

his  incarceration  ; and  Thaddeus,  with  a feeling  as  if  a band 
of  iron  had  been  taken  from  his  soul,  passed  through  the  door 
of  his  cell  j and  when  he  reached  the  greater  portal  of  New- 
gate, where  the  coach  stood,  he  gave  the  turnkey  a liberal 
douceu7%  and  handing  Mrs.  Robson  into  the  vehicle,  stepped  in 
after  her,  full  of  thankfulness  to  Heaven  for  again  being  per- 
mitted to  taste  the  wholesome  breeze  of  a free  atmosphere* 

They  drove  quickly  on,  and  from  the  fullness  of  his  thoughts, 
little  passed  between  the  count  and  his  happy  companion  till 
they  alighted  at  her  door  and  he  had  re-entered  his  humble 
apartment.  But  so  true  is  it  that  advantages  are  only  appre- 
ciated by  comparison,  when  he  looked  around,  he  considered  it 
a palace  of  luxury,  compared  to  the  stifling  dungeon  he  had 
left.  ‘‘  Ah  ! ’’  cried  Mrs.  Robson,  pointing  to  a chair,  there  is 
the  seat  in  which  that  dear  lady  sat — sweet  creature  ! If  I had 
known  I durst  believe  all  she  promised,  I would  have  fallen  on 
my  knees  and  kissed  her  feet  for  bringing  back  your  dear 
self ! ” 

“ I thank  you,  my  revered  friend  ! ” replied  Thaddeus,  with 
a grateful  smile  and  a tear  at  so  ardent  a demonstration  of  her 
maternal  affection.  But  where  is  little  Nanny,  that  I may 
shake  hands  with  her  ? ” It  being  yet  early  in  the  evening,  he 
was  also  anxious,  before  the  probable  retiring  time  of  Lady 
Sara  into  her  dressing-room  to  prepare  for  dinner  should  elapse, 
to  dispatch  his  letter  to  her  ; and  he  inquired  of  his  still  re- 
joicing landlady  whether  she  could  find  him  a safe  porter  to 
take  a small  packet  of  importance  to  St.  James’s  Place,  and 
wait  for  an  answer 't  ” 

The  good  woman  instantly  replied  that  Mrs.  Watts,  her 
neighbor,  had  a nephew  at  present  lodging  with  her,  a steady 
man,  recently  made  one  of  the  grooms  in  the  King’s  Mews, 
and  as  this  was  the  customary  hour  of  his  return  from  the 
stables,  she  was  sure  he  would  be  glad  to  do  the  service.” 
While  the  count  was  sealing  his  letter,  Mrs  Robson  had  exe- 
cuted her  commission,  and  re-entered  with  young  Watts.  He 
respectfully  received  his  instructions  from  Thaddeus,  and  with- 
drew to  perform  the  duty. 

Nanny  had  also  appeared,  and  welcomed  her  grandmother’s 
beloved  lodger  with  all  those  artless  and  animated  expressions 
of  joy  which  are  inseparable  from  a good  and  unsophisticated 
heart. 

The  distance  between  the  royal  precincts  of  St.  James’s 
and  the  unostentatious  environs  of  St.  Martin’s  church  being 
very  short,  in  less  than  half  an  hour  the  count’s  messenger  re- 


THADDEtfS  OF  WAFSAW, 


317 

turned  with  the  wished-for  reply.  It  was  with  pain  that  he 
opened  it,  for  he  saw,  by  the  state  of  the  paper,  that  it  had 
been  blotted  with  tears.  He  hurriedly  took  out  the  re-enclosed 
bills,  with  a flushed  cheek,  and  read  as  follows  : — 

‘‘  I cannot  be  mistaken  in  recognizing  the  proud  and  high- 
minded  Constantine  in  the  lines  I hold  in  my  hand.  Could 
anything  have  imparted  to  me  more  comfort  than  your  generous 
belief  that  there  is  indeed  some  virtue  left  in  my  wretched  and 
repentant  heart,  it  would  have  arisen  from  the  consciousness  of 
having  been  the  happy  person  who  succored  you  in  your  dis- 
tress. But  no  : that  enjoyment  was  beyond  my  deserving.  The 
bliss  of  being  the  lightener  of  your  sorrows  was  reserved  by 
Heaven  for  a less  criminal  creature.  I did  not  even  know  that 
you  were  in  prison.  Since  our  dreadful  parting,  I have  never 
dared  to  inquire  after  you  ^ and  much  as  it  might  console  me 
to  serve  one  so  truly  valued,  1 will  not  insult  your  nice  honor 
by  offering  any  further  instance  of  my  friendship  than  what 
will  evince  my  soul’s  gratitude  to  your  prayers  and  my  acquies- 
cence with  the  commands  of  duty. 

“My  husband  is  here, without  perceiving  the  ravages  which 
misery  and  remorse  have  made  in  my  unhappy  heart.  Time, 
perhaps,  may  render  me  less  unworthy  of  his  tenderness  ; at 
present,  I detest  myself. 

“ I return  the  bills  ; you  may  safely  use  them,  for  they  never 
were  mine. 

“ S.  R.” 

The  noble  heart  of  Thaddeus  bled  over  every  line  of  this 
letter.  He  saw  that  it  bore  the  stamp  of  truth  which  did  not 
leave  him  a moment  in  doubt  that  he  owed  his  release  to  some 
other  hand.  Whilst  he  folded  it  up,  his  grateful  suspicions 
next  lighted  on  Lady  Tinemouth.  He  had  received  one  short 
letter  from  her  since  her  departure,  mentioning  Sophia’s  stay 
in  town  to  meet  Mr.  Montresor,  and  Miss  Beaufort’s  detention 
there,  on  account  of  Miss  Dorothy’s  accident,  and  closing  with 
the  intelligence  of  her  own  arrival  at  the  Wolds.  He  was 
struck  with  the  idea  that,  as  he  had  delayed  answering  this 
letter  in  consequence  of  his  late  embarrassment,  she  must  have 
made  inquiries  after  him  ; that  probably  Miss  Egerton  was^the 
lady  who  had  visited  Mrs.  Robson,  and  finding  the  information 
true  had  executed  the  countess’s  commission  to  obtain  his 
release. 

According  to  these  suppositions,  he  questioned  his  landlady 
about  the  appearance  of  the  lady  who  had  called.  Mrs.  Rob- 


TiJADbBUS  OF  IVAFSAVF. 


I 


318 


son  replied,  She  was  of  an  elegant  height,  but  so  wrapped  up,| 
I could  neither  see  her  face  nor  her  figure,  though  I am  certain,! 
from  the  softness  of  her  voice,  she  must  be  both  young  and^ 
handsome.  Sweet  creature  ! I am  sure  she  v/ept  two  or  threej 
times.  Besides,  she  is  the  most  charitable  soul  alive,  next  to? 
you,  sir ; for  she  gave  me  a purse  with  twenty  guineas,  and  she» 
told  me  she  knew  your  honor’s  English  friends.” 

This  narration  substantiating  his  hope  of  Lady  Tinemouth’s} 
being  his  benefactress,  that  the  kind  Sophia  was  her  agent,| 
and  the  gentleman  who  defrayed  the  debt  Mr.  Montresor,  he; 
felt  easier  under  an  obligation  which  a mysterious  liberation; 
would  have  doubled.  He  knew  the  countess’s  maternal  lovej 
for  him.  To  reject  her  present  benefaction,  in  any  part,  would 
be  to  sacrifice  gratitude  to  an  excessive  and  haughty  deli- 
cacy. Convinced  that  nothing  can  be  great  that  it  is  great  to 
despise,  he  no  longer  hestitated  to  accept  Lady  Tinemouth’s 
bounty,  but  smothered  in  his  breast  the  embers  of  a proud 
and  repulsive  fire,  which,  having  burst  forth  in  the  first  hour  of 
his  misfortunes,  was  ever  ready  to  consume  any  attempt  that 
might  oppress  him  with  the  weight  of  obligation. 

Being  exhausted  by  the  events  of  the  day,  he  retired  at  an. 
early  hour  to  his  grateful  devotions  and  to  his  pillow,  where  he 
found  that  repose  which  he  had  sought  in  vain  within  the 
gloomy  and  (he  supposed)  ever-sealed  walls  of  his  prison. 

r »ming  he  was  awakened  by  the  light  footsteps  of 

his  w.ii  ag-maid  entering  the  front  room.  His  chamber- 

door  being  07.:,.  ae  asked  her  what  the  hour  was  ? She  re- 
plied nine  o^cIock ; adding  that  she  had  brought  a letter,  which 
one  of  the  waiters  from  Slaughter’s  Coffee-house  had  just  left,, 
with  information  that  he  did  so  by  the  orders  of  a footman  in 
a rich  livery. 

Thaddeus  desired  that  it  might  be  given  to  him.  The  child 
obeyed,  and  quitted  the  room.  He  saw  that  the  superscription 
was  in  Miss  Dundas’s  hand  ; and  opening  it  with  pleasure, — 
because  everything  interested  him  which  came  from  the  house 
which  contained  Mary  Beaufort, — to  his  amazement  and  con- 
sternation he  read  the  following  accusations  : — 

‘‘  To  Mr.  Constantine. 

‘‘  Sir, 

“ By  a miraculous  circumstance  yesterday  morning,  your 
deep  and  daring  plan  of  villany  has  been  discovered  to  Ladj 

D and  myself.  The  deluded  victim,  whom  your  arts  and 

falsehoods  would  have  seduced  to  dishonor  her  family  by  con- 


T^iADDEUS  OF  WARS  Am 


3^9 


necting  herself  with  a vagabond,  has  at  length  seen  through 
her  error,  and  now  detests  you  as  much  as  ever  your  insuffer- 
able presumption  could  have  hoped  she  would  distinguish  you 
with  her  regard.  Thanks  be  to  Heaven  I you  are  completely 
exposed.  This  young  woman  of  fashion  (whose  name  I will 
not  trust  in  the  same  page  with  yours)  has  made  a full  confes- 
sion of  your  vile  seductions,  of  her  own  reprehensible  weakness, 
in  ever  having  deigned  to  listen  to  so  low  a creature.  She 
desires  me  to  assure  you  that  she  hates  you,  and  commands  you 
never  again  to  attempt  the  insolence  of  appearing  in  her  sight. 
Indeed  this  is  the  language  of  every  soul  in  this  house,  Lady 

D Miss  D , S ^ Miss  B , besides  that  of 

D D 

“Harley  Street.’* 

Thaddeus  read  this  ridiculous  letter  twice  before  he  could 
perfectly  comprehend  its  meaning.  In  a paroxysm  of  indigna- 
tion at  the  base  subterfuge  under  which  he  did  not  doubt 
Euphemia  had  screened  some  accidental  discovery  of  her  ab- 
surd passion,  he  hastily  threw  on  his  clothes,  and  determined, 
though  in  defiance  of  Miss  Dundas’s  mandates,  to  fly  to  Harley 
Street,  and  clear  himself  in  the  eyes  of  Miss  Beaufort  and  her 
venerable  aunt. 

Having  flown  rather  than  walked,  he  arrived  in  sight  of 
Lady  Dundas’s  house  just  as  a coachful  of  her  ladyship’s  maids 
and  packages  drove  from  the  door.  Hurrying  up  the  step,  he 
asked  the  porter  if  Miss  Dorothy  Somerset  were  at  home. 

“ No,”  replied  the  man  ; ‘‘  she  and  Miss  Beaufort,  with  Miss 
Dundas  and  Mr.  Somerset,  went  out  of  town  this  morning  by 
eight  o’clock  ; and  my  lady  and  Miss  Euphemia,  about  an  hour 
ago,  set  off  for  Scotland,  where  they  mean  to  stay  all  the  sum- 
mer.” 

At  this  information,  which  seemed  to  be  the  sealing  of  his 
condemnation  with  Mary,  the  heart  of  Thaddeus  was  pierced 
to  the  core.  Unacquainted  until  this  moment  with  the  tor- 
ments attending  the  knowledge  of  being  calumniated,  he  could 
scarcely  subdue  the  tempest  in  his  breast,  when  forced  to  re- 
ceive the  conviction  that  the  woman  he  loved  above  all  the 
world  now  regarded  him  as  not  merely  a villain,  but  the  mean- 
est of  villains. 

He  returned  home  indignant  and  agitated.  The  probabil- 
ity that  Pembroke  Somerset  had  listened  to  the  falsehood  of 
Euphemia,  without  suggesting  one  word  in  defence  of  him  who 
once  was  his  friend,  inflicted  a pang  more  deadly  than  the  rest, 


THADDEtrs  OF  WAESA  W. 


320 

Shutting  himself  within  his  apartment,  tossed  and  tortured  ii| 
soul,  he  traversed  the  room.  First  one  idea  occurred  and  then 
another,  until  he  resolved  to  seek  redress  from  the  advice  of 
Lady  Tinemouth.  With  this  determination  he  descended  thd 
stairs,  and  telling  Mrs.  Robson  he  should  leave  London  th^ 
ensuing  day  for  Lincolnshire,  begged  her  not  to  be  uneasy  o-.i 
his  account,  as  he  went  on  business,  and  would  return  in  a few 
days.  The  good  woman  almost  wept  at  this  intelligence,  and 
prayed  Heaven  to  guard  him  wherever  he  went. 

Next  morning,  having  risen  at  an  early  hour,  he  was  collect} 
ing  his  few  articles  of  wardrobe  to  put  into  his  cloak-bag  for 
his  meditated  short  visit,  when  going  to  open  one  of  the  top 
drawers  in  his  chamber,  he  found  it  sealed,  and  observed  on 
the  black  wax  the  impress  of  an  eagle.  It  was  a large  seal', 
Hardly  crediting  his  eyes,  it  appeared  to  be  the  armorial  eagle 
of  Poland,  surmounted  by  its  regal  crown.  Nay,  it  seemed  an 
impression  of  the  very  seal  which  had  belonged  to  his  royal  am 
cestor,  John  Sobieski,  and  which  was  appended  to  the  watch 
of  his  grandfather  when  he  was  robbed  of  it  on  his  first  arrival 
in  England.  ■ 

Thaddeus,  in  a wondering  surprise,  immediately  rang  the 
bell,  and  Mrs.  Robson  herself  came  up  stairs.  He  hurnedlji 
but  gently  inquired  “ how  the  drawer  became  not  only  locked 
as  he  had  left  it,  but  fastened  with  such  a seal  ? ” 

Mrs.  Robson  did  not  perceive  his  agitation,  and  simply  re- 
plied, “ While  his  honor  was  in  that  horrid  place,  and  after  the 
attenrpt  of  Mr.  Jackson  to  get  possession  of  his  property,  she 
had  considered  it  right  to  so  secure  the  drawer,  which  she  be 
lieved  contained  his  most  valuable  pictures,  and  the  like.  So^ 
having  no  impression  of  her  own  big  enough,  she  went  anc 
bought  a bunch  of  tarnished  copper-seals  she  had  seen  hanging 
in  the  window  of  a huckster’s  shop  at  the  corner  of  an  ally  hare 
by,  one  of  them  appearing  about  the  size  she  wanted.  Ihe 
woman  of  the  shop  told  her  she  had  found  them  at  the  botton 
of  a tub  of  old  iron,  sold  to  her  a while  ago  by  a dustman  ; ami 
as,  to  be  sure,  they  were  damaged  and  very  dirty,  she  wouit 
not  ask  more  than  a couple  of  shillings  for  the  lot,  and  wou  ( 

be  glad  to  get  rid  of  them  ! ” , j 1 1 <i 

“ So,  sir,”  continued  Mrs.  Robson,  with  a pleased  look,  , 
gave  the  money,  and  hastened  home  as  fast  as  I could,  ani 
with  Mrs.  Watts  by  my  side  to  witness  it,  you  see  I made  al 
safe  which  I thought  you  most  cared  for.’ 

“ You  are  very  thoughtful  for  me,  kindest  of  women  ! rt 
turned  Thaddeus,  with  grateful  energy ; “ but  let  me  see  tin 


THAnUECJ  OF  PVAFSAPF. 


321 

seals — for  it  is  possible  I may  recognize  in  the  one  of  this  im- 
pression, indeed,  a relic  precious  to  my  memory  ! 

Mrs.  Robson  put  her  hand  into  her  pocket,  and  instantly 
gave  them  to  him.  There  were  three,  one  large,  two  small,  and 
strung  together  by  a leather  thong.  The  former  massive  gold 
chain  was  no  longer  their  link,  and  the  rust  from  the  iron  had 
clouded  the  setting ; but  a glance  told  Sobieski  they  were  his  ! 
He  pressed  them  to  his  heart,  whilst  with  glistening  eyes  he 
turned  away  to  conceal  his  emotion.  His  sensible  landlady 
comprehended  there  was  something  more  than  she  knew  of  in  the 
recognition  (he  never  having  told  her  of  the  loss  of  his  watch, 
when  he  had  saved  her  little  grandchild  from  the  plunging 
horses  in  the  King’s  Mews ;)  and  from  her  native  delicacy  not 
to  intrude  on  his  feelings,  she  gently  withdrew  unobserved,  and 
^eft  him  alone. 

About  half  an  hour  afterwards,  when  she  saw  her  beloved 
Jodger  depart  in  the  stage-coach  that  called  to  take  him  up,  her 
eyes  followed  the  wheels  down  the  lane  with  renewed  blessings. 

His  long  journey  passed  not  more  in  melancholy  reveries 
against  the  disappointing  characters  he  had  met  in  revered 
England  than  in  affectionate  anticipations  of  the  moment  in 
which  he  should  pour  out  his  gratitude  to  the  maternal  tender- 
ness of  Lady  Tinemouth,  and  learn  from  her  ingenuous  lips 
how  to  efface  from  the  minds  of  Miss  Dorothy  Somerset  and  her 
angel-like  niece  the  representations,  so  dishonoring,  torturing, 
and  false,  which  had  been  heaped  upon  him  by  the  calumnies 
of  the  family  in  Harley  Street. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIH. 

ZEAL  IS  POWER. 

The  porter  at  Lady  Dundas’s  had  been  strictly  correct  in  his 
account  respecting  the  destination  of  the  dispersed  members  of 
her  ladyship’s  household. 

Whilst  Pembroke  Somerset  was  sullenly  executing  his  forced 
act  of  benevolence  at  Newgate,  Miss  Dundas  suddenly  took 
into  her  scheming  head  to  compare  the  merits  of  Somerset’s  ricji 
expectancy  with  the  penniless  certainty  of  Lascelles.  She  con- 
sidered the  substantial  advantages  which  the  wife  of  a wealthy 


THADDEVS  OF  IVAESAIV. 


522 

baronet  would  hold  over  the  thriftless  ccivd  sposa  of  a man  own- 
ing no  other  estate  than  a reflected  lustre  from  the  coronet  of 
an°elder  brother.  Besides,  Pembroke  was  very  handsome— • 
Lascelles  only  tolerably  so ; indeed,  some  women  had  presumed 
to  call  him  “ very  plain.”  But  they  were  “ stupid  persons,” 
who,  not  believing  the  metempsychosis  doctrine  of  the  tailor  and 
his  decorating  adjuncts,  could  not  comprehend  that  although  a 
mere  human  creature  can  have  no  such  property,  a man  of 
fashion  may  possess  an  elixir  vitce  which  makes  age  youth,  de- 
formity beauty,  and  even  transforms  vice  into  virtue. 

In  spite  of  recollection,  which  reminded  Diana  how  often 
she  had  contended  that  all  Mr.  Lascelles’  teeth  were  his  own  ; 
that  his  nose  was  not  a bit  too  long,  being  a fac-simile  of  the 
feature  which  reared  its  sublime  curve  over  the  capricious 
mouth  of  his  noble  brother,  the  Earl  of  Castle  Conway— not- 
withstanding all  this,  the  Pythagorean  pretensions  of  fashion 
began  to  lose  their  ascendency ; and  in  the  recesses  of  her 
mind,  when  Miss  Dundas  compared  the  light  elegance  of  Pem- 
broke’s figure  with  the  heavy  limbs  of  her  present  lover,  Pem- 
broke’s dark  and  ever-animated  eyes  with  the  gooseberry  orbs 
of  Lascelles,  she  dropped  the  parallel,  and  resolving  to  capti- 
vate the  heir  of  Somerset  Castle,  admitted  no  remorse  at  jilting 
the  brother  of  Castle  Conway. 

To  this  end,  before  Pembroke’s  return  from  Newgate, 
Diana  had  told  her  mother  of  her  intention  to  accompany 
Miss  Dorothy  to  the  baronet’s,  where  she  would  remain  until 
her  ladyship  should  think  Euphemia  might  be  trusted  to  rejoin 
her  in  town.  Neither  Miss  Dorothy  nor  Miss  Beaufort  liked 
this  arrangement  j and  next  morning,  with  an  aching  heart,  the 
latter  prepared  to  take  her  seat  in  the  travelling  equipage  which 
was  to  convey  them  all  into  Leicestershire. 

After  supper,  Pembroke  coldly  informed  his  cousin  of  the 
success  of  her  commands— that  Mr.  Constantine  was  at  liberty. 
This  assurance,  though  imparted  with  so  ungracious  an  air, 
laid  her  head  with  less  distraction  on  her  pillow,  and  as  she 
stepped  into  Sir  Robert’s  carriage  next  day,  enabled  her  with 
more  ease  to  deck  her  lips  with  smiles.  She  felt  that  the  pene- 
trating eyes  of  Mr.  Somerset  were  never  withdrawn  from  her 
face,  "offended  with  his  perverseness,  and  their  scrutiny,  she- 
tried  to  baffle  their  inspection.  She  attempted  gayety,  when 
she  gladly  would  have  wept.  But  when  the  coach  mounted  the 
top  of  Highgate  Hill,  and  she  had  a last  view  of  that  city  which 
contained  the  being  whose  happiness  was  the  sole  object  of  her 
thoughts  and  prayers,  she  leaned  out  of  the  window  to  hide  a 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


323 

tear  she  could  not  repress ; feeling  that  another  and  another 
would  start,  she  complained  of  the  dust,  and  pulling  her  veil  over 
her  eyes,  drew  back  into  the  corner  of  the  carriage.  The  trem- 
bling of  her  voice  and  hands  during  the  performance  of  this  little 
artifice  too  well  explained  to  Pembroke  what  was  passing  in  her 
mind.  At  once  dispelling  the  gloom  which  shrouded  his  own 
■^  countenance,  he  turned  towards  her  with  compassionate  tender- 
■ ness  in  his  words  and  looks  ; he  called  her  attention  by  degrees 
to  the  happy  domestic  scene  she  was  to  meet  at  the  Castle ; 
and  thus  gradually  softening  her  displeasure  into  the  easy  con- 
versation of  reciprocal  affection,  he  rendered  the  remainder  of 
their  long  journey  less  irksome. 

When,  at  the  end  of  the  second  day.  Miss  Beaufort  found 
herself  in  the  old  avenue  leading  to  the  base  of  the  hill  which 
sustains  the  revered  walls  of  Somerset’s  castellated  towers,  a 
mingled  emotion  took  possession  of  her  breast ; and  when  the 
carriage  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  highest  terrace,  she  sprang 
impatiently  out  of  it,  and  hastening  up  the  stone  stairs  into 
the  front  hall,  met  her  uncle  at  the  door  of  the  breakfast-parlor, 
where  he  held  out  his  arms  to  receive  her. 

*■  My  Mary  ! My  darling  ! ” cried  he,  embracing  her  now 
-wet  cheek,  and  straining  her  throbbing  bosom  to  his  own, 
“ Why,  my  dear  love,”  added  he,  almost  carrying  her  into  the 
room,  “ I am  afraid  this  visit  to  town  has  injured  your  nerves ! 
(Whence  arises  this  agitation  ? ” 

She  knew  it  had  injured  her  peace  ; and  now  that  the  flood- 
gates of  her  long-repelled  tears  were  opened,  it  was  beyond  her 
^power,  or  the  soothings  of  her  affectionate  uncle,  to  stay  them. 
’A  moment  afterwards  her  cousin  entered  the  room,  followed 
by  Miss  Dorothy  and  Miss  Dundas.  Miss  Beaufort  hastily 
rose,  to  conceal  what  she  could  not  check.  Kissing  Sir  Robert’s 
hand,  she  asked  permission  to  retire,  under  the  pretence  of  re- 
gaining those  spirits  which  had  been  dissipated  by  the  fatigues 
bf  her  journey. 

In  her  own  chamber  she  did  indeed  struggle  to  recover  her- 
self. She  shuddered  at  the  impetuosity  of  her  emotions  when 
^nce  abandoned  of  their  reins,  and  resolved  from  this  hour  to 
bold  a stricter  control  over  such  betrayals  of  her  ill-fated,  de- 
‘v^oted  heart. 

She  sat  in  the  window  of  her  apartment,  and  looking  down 
the  extensive  vale  of  Somerset,  watched  the  romantic  meander- 
Ijings  of  its  shadowed  river,  winding  its  course  through  the  do- 
irnains  of  the  castle,  and  nourishing  the  roots  of  those  immense 
[®aks  which  for  many  a century  had  waved  their  branches  over 


THADDEilS  OF  WARSAW. 


324 

its  stream.  She  reflected  on  the  revolution  which  had  taken 
place  in  herself  since  she  walked  on  its  banks  the  evening  that 
preceded  her  visit  to  London.  Then  she  was  free  as  the  air, 
gay  as  the  lark  ; each  object  was  bright  and  lovely  in  her  eyes ; 
hope  seemed  to  woo  her  from  every  green  slope,  every  remote 
dingle.  All  nature  breathed  of  joy,  because  her  own  breast 
was  the  abode  of  gladness.  Now,  all  continued  the  same,  but 
she  was  changed.  Surrounded  by  beauty,  she  acknowledged 
its  presence  ; the  sweetness  of  the  flowers  bathed  her  senses 
in  fragrance  ; the  setting  sun,  gilding  the  height,  shed  a yellow 
glory  over  the  distant  hills  ; the  birds  were  hailing  the  falling 
dew  which  spangled  every  leaf.  She  gazed  around,  and  sighed 
heavily,  when  she  said  to  herself,  Even  in  this  paradise  I shall 
be  wretched.  Alas  ! my  heart  is  far  away  ! My  soul  lingers 
about  one  I may  never  more  behold  ! — about  one  who  may 
soon  cease  to  remember  that  such  a being  as  Mary  Beaufort  is 
in  existence.  He  will  leave  England  1 cried  she,  raising  her 
l^.ands  and  eyes  to  the  glowing  heavens.  ‘‘  He  will  live,  he  will 
(lie,  far,  far  from  me  ! In  a distant  land  he  will  wed  another, 
whilst  I shall  know  no  wish  that  strays  from  him.” 

Whilst  she  indulged  in  these  soliloquies,  she  forgot  both  Sir 
Robert  and  her  resolution,  until  he  sent  her  maid  to  beg,  if 
she  were  better,  that  she  would  come  down  and  make  tea  for 
him.  At  this  summons  she  dried  her  eyes,  and  with  assumed 
serenity  descended  to  the  saloon,  where  the  family  were  assem- 
bled. The  baronet  having  greeted  Miss  Dundas  with  an  hos- 
pitable welcome,  seated  himself  between  his  sister  and  his  son  ^ 
and  whilst  he  received  his  favorite  beverage  from  the  hands  of 
his  beloved  niece,  he  found  that  comfort  once  more  re-entered 
1.1s  bosom. 

Sir  Robert  Somerset  was  a man  whose  appearance  alone 
attracted  respect.  His  person  bore  the  stamp  of  dignity,  and 
his  manners,  which  possessed  the  exquisite  polish  of  travel, 
and  of  society  in  its  most  refined  courts,  secured  him  universal 
esteem.  Though  little  beyond  fifty,  various  perplexing  situa. 
tions  having  distressed  his  youth,  had  not  only  rendered  hii: 
hair  prematurely  gray,  but  by  clouding  his  once  brilliant  eyes 
with  thoughtfulness,  marked  his  aspect  with  premature  old  agf| 
and  melancholy.  The  baronet’s  entrance  into  town  life  hac 
been  celebrated  for  his  graceful  vivacity  ; he  was  the  animating 
spirit  of  every  party,  till  an  inexplicable  metamorphosis  sud 
denly  took  place.  Soon  after  his  return  from  abroad,  he  had 
married  Miss  Beaufort  (a  woman  whom  he  loved  to  adoration) 
when,  strange  to  say,  excess  of  happiness  seemed  to  change 


THADDEUS  OF  IVAESAIV. 


325 

i his  nature  and  give  his  character  a deep  tinge  of  sadness. 
After  his  wife’s  death,  the  alteration  in  his  mind  produced  still 
more  extraordinary  effects,  and  showed  itself  more  than  once 
in  all  the  terrors  of  threatened  mental  derangement. 

His  latest  attack  of  the  kind  assailed  him  during  the  last 
winter,  under  the  appearance  of  a swoon,  while  he  sat  at  break- 
fast reading  the  newspaper.  He  was  carried  to  bed,  and  awoke 
, in  a delirium  which  menaced  either  immediate  death  or  the 
total  extinction  of  his  intellects.  However,  neither  of  these 
dreads  being  confirmed,  in  the  course  of  several  weeks,  to  the 
^ wonder  of  everybody,  he  recovered  much  of  his  health  and  his 
sound  mind.  Notwithstanding  this  happy  event,  the  circum- 
stances of  his  danger  so  deeply  affected  his  family,  that  he 
ceased  not  to  be  an  object  of  the  most  anxious  attention.  In- 
deed, solicitude  did  not  terminate  with  them  : the  munificence 
of  his  disposition  having  spread  itself  through  every  county  in 
which  he  owned  a rood  of  land,  as  many  prayers  ascended  for 
'the  repose  of  his  spirit  as  ever  petitioned  Heaven  from  the 
mouths  of  “ monkish  beadsmen  ” in  favor  of  power  and  virtue. 

Since  the  demise  of  Lady  Somerset,  this  still-admired  man 
drew  all  his  earthly  comfort  from  the  amiable  qualities  of  his 
son  Pembroke.  Sometimes  in  his  liv'elier  hours,  which  came 
“ like  angel  visits,  few  and  far  between,”  he  amused  himself 
with  the  playfulness  of  the  little  Earl  of  Avon,  the  pompous 
erudition  of  Mr.  Loftus,  (who  was  become  his  young  ward’s 
.tutor),  and  with  giving  occasional  entertainments  to  the  gentry 
in  his  neighborhood. 

Of  all  the  personages  contained  within  this  circle  (which 
.the  hospitality  of  Sir  Robert  extended  to  a circumference  of 
fifty  miles,)  the  noble  family  of  Castle  Granby,  brave,  patriotic, 
and  accomplished,  with  female  beauty  at  its  head, 

“ Fitted  to  move  in  courts  or  walk  the  shade, 

With  innocence  and  contemplation  joined,” 

vvere  held  in  the  highest  and  most  intimate  appreciation  ; while 
many  of  the  numerous  titled  visitants  who  attended  the  cele- 
brated and  magnificent  Granby  hunt  were  of  too  convivial 
lotoriety  to  be  often  admitted  within  the  social  home-society 
of  either  Castle  Granby  or  Somerset  Castle,  the  two  cynosure 
uansions  which,  now  palace-like,  crest  with  their  peaceful 
groves  the  summits  of  those  two  promontory  heights  whereon 
n former  times  they  stood  in  fortress  strength,  the  guardians 
)f  each  opening  pass  into  that  spacious  and  once  important 
^belligerent  vale ! 

1 


326 


THADDEUS  OF  WAKSA IV. 


Amongst  the  less-esteemed  frequenters  of  the  chase  was  a 
devoted  Nimrod,  Sir  Richard  Shafto,  who  every  season  fixed 
himself  and  family  at  a convenient  hunting-lodge  near  the 
little  town  of  Grantham,  with  his  right  worthy  son  and  heir, 
who  by  calling  at  Somerset  Castle  soon  after  the  arrival  of  its 
guests,  caused  a trifling  change  in  its  arrangements.  When 
Dick  Shafto  (as  all  the  grooms  in  the  stables  familiarly  desig- 
nated him)  was  ushered  into  the  room,  he  nodded  to  Sir 
Robert,  and,  turning  his  back  on  the  ladies,  told  Pembroke  he 
had  ridden  to  Somerset  on  purpose  to  bag  him  for  Woodhill 
Lodge.’’ 

‘‘Upon  my  life,”  cried  he,  “if  you  don’t  come,  I will  cut 
and  run.  There  is  not  a creature  but  yourself  within  twenty 
miles  to  whom  I can  speak — not  a man  worth  a sixpence.  I 
wish  my  father  had  broken  his  neck  before  he  accepted  that 
confounded  embassy,  which  encumbers  me  with  the  charge  of 
my  old  mother ! ” 

After  this  dutiful  wish,  which  brought  down  a weighty  ad- 
monition from  Miss  Dorothy,  the  young  gentleman  promised 
to  behave  better,  provided  she  would  persuade  Pembroke  to 
accompany  him  to  the  Lodge.  Mr.  Somerset  did  not  show 
much  alacrity  in  his  consent ; but  to  rid  his  family  of  so  noisy 
a guest,  he  rose  from  his  chair,  and  acquiescing  in  the  sacrifice 
of  a few  days  to  good  nature,  bade  his  father  farewell,  and 
gave  orders  for  a ride  to  Grantham. 

As  soon  as  the  gentlemen  left  the  saloon,  Miss  Dundas  ran 
up  stairs,  and  from  her  dressing-room  window  in  the  west 
tower  pursued  the  steps  of  their  horses  as  they  cantered  down 
the  winding  steep  into  the  high  road.  An  abrupt  angle  of  the 
hill  hiding  them  from  her  view,  she  turned  round  with  a toss  of 
the  head,  and  flinging  herself  into  a chair,  exclaimed,  “ Now  I 
shall  be  bored  to  death  by  this  prosing  family ! I wish  his 
boasted  hunter  had  run  away  with  Shafto  before  he  thought  of 
coming  here  ! ” 

In  consequence  of  the  temper  which  engendered  the  above 
no  very  flattering  compliment  to  the  society  at  the  Castle,  Miss 
Dundas  descended  to  the  dining-room  with  sulky  looks  and  a 
chilling  air.  She  ate  what  the  baronet  laid  on  her  plate  with 
an  indolent  appetite,  cut  her  meat  carelessly,  and  dragged  the 
vegetables  over  the  table-cloth.  Miss  Dorothy  colored  at  this 
indifference  to  the  usual  neatness  of  her  damask  covers  ; but 
Miss  Dundas  was  so  completely  in  the  sullens,  that,  heedless 
of  any  other  feelings  than  her  own,  she  continued  to  pull  and 
knock  about  the  things  just  as  her  ill-humor  dictated. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 


327 


The  petulance  of  this  lady’s  behavior  did  not  in  the  least 
Assimilate  with  the  customary  decorum  of  Sir  Robert’s  table ; 
and  when  the  cloth  was  drawn,  he  could  not  refrain  from  ex- 
pressing his  concern  that  Somerset  Castle  appeared  so  little 
calculated  to  afford  satisfaction  to  a daughter  of  Lady  Dundas. 
Miss  Dundas  attempted  some  awkward  declaration  that  she 
never  was  more  amused — never  happier. 

But  the^  small  credit  Sir  Robert  gave  to  her  assertion  was 
fully  warranted  the  next  morning  by  the  ready  manner  in  which 
she  accepting  a casual  invitation  to  spend  the  ensuing  day  and 
night  at  Lady  Shafto’s.  Her  ladyship  called  on  Miss  Dorothy, 
and  intended  to  have  a party  in  the  evening,  invited  the  two 
young  ladies  to  return  with  her  to  Woodhill  Lodge,  and  be  her 
guests  for  a week.  Miss  Beaufort,  whose  spirits  were  far  from 
tranquillized,  declined  her  civility ; but  with  a gleam  of  pleas- 
ure she  heard  it  accepted  by  Miss  Dundas,  who  departed  with 
her  ladyship  for  the  Lodge. 

Whilst  the  enraptured  Diana,  all  life  and  glee,  bowled  along 
with  Lady  Shafto,  anticipating  the  delight  of  once  more  seating 
herself  at  the  elbow  of  Pembroke  Somerset,  Mary  Beaufort, 
relieved  from  a load  of  ill-requited  attentions,  walked  out  into 
the  park,  to  enjoy  in  solitude  the  sweet  sorrow  ” of  thinking  on 
the  unhappy  and  far-distant  Constantine.  Regardless  of  the 
way,  her  footsteps,  though  robbed  of  elasticity  by  nightly  watch- 
ing and  daily  regret,  led  her  beyond  the  park,  to  the  ruined 
church  of  Woolthorpe,  its  southern  boundary.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  opposite  horizon.  It  was  the  extremity  of  Leices- 
tershire ; and  far,  far  behind  those  hills  was  that  London  which 
contained  the  object  dearest  to  her  soul.  The  wind  seemed 
scarcely  to  breathe  as  it  floated  towards  her ; but  it  came  from 
that  quarter,  and  believing  it  laden  with  every  sweet  which 
love  can  fancy,  she  threw  back  her  veil  to  inhale  its  balm,  then, 
blaming  herself  for  such  weakness,  she  turned,  blushing,  home- 
wards and  wept  at  what  she  thought  her  unreasonably  tenacious 
passion. 

The  arrival  of  Miss  Dundas  at  the  Lodge  was  communicated 
to  the  two  young  men  on  their  return  from  traversing  half  the 
country  in  quest  of  game.  The  news  drew  an  oath  from  Shafto, 
but  rather  pleased  Somerset,  who  augured  some  amusement 
from  her  attempts  at  wit  and  judgment.  Tired  to  death,  and 
dinner  being  over  when  they  entered,  with  ravenous  appetites 
they  devoured  their  uncomfortable  meal  in  a remote  room  ; 
then  throwing  themselves  along  the  sofas,  yawned  and  slept 
for  nearly  two  hours. 


328 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


Pembroke  waking  first,  suddenly  jumped  on  the  floor,  and 
shaking  his  disordered  clothes,  exclaimed,  Shafto  ! get  up. 
This  is  abominable  ! I cannot  help  thinking  that  if  we  spend 
one  half  of  our  days  in  pleasure  and  the  other  in  lolling  off  its 
fatigues,  we  shall  have  passed  through  life  more  to  our  shame 
than  our  profit ! ’’ 

Then  you  take  the  shame  and  leave  me  the  profit,’’  cried 
his  companion,  turning  himself  round  : ‘‘  so  good-night  to  you  ! ” 

Pembroke  rang  the  bell.  A servant  entered. 

“ What  o’clock  is  it  ? ” 

Nine,  sir.” 

Who  are  above  ? ” 

‘‘  My  lady,  sir,  and  a large  party  of  ladies.” 

“ There,  now ! ” cried  Shafto,  yawning  and  kicking  out  his 
legs.  “ You  surely  won’t  go  to  be  bored  with  such  maudlin 
company  ? ” 

I choose  to  join  your  mother,”  replied  Pembroke.  ‘‘Are 
there  any  gentlemen,  Stephen  ? ” 

“ One  sir : Doctor  Denton.” 

“ Off  with  you  ! ” roared  Shafto  ; “ what  do  you  stand  jab- 
bering there  for  ? You  won’t  let  me  sleep.  Can’t  you  send 
away  the  fellow,  and  go  look  yourself  ? ” 

“ I will,  if  you  can  persuade  yourself  to  rise  off  that  sofa 
and  come  with  me.” 

“ May  Lady  Hecate  catch  me  if  I do ! Get  about  your 
business,  and  leave  me  to  mine.” 

“You  are  incorrigible,  Shafto,”  returned  Pembroke,  as  he 
closed  the  door. 

He  went  up  stairs  to  change  his  dress,  and  before  he  gained 
the  second  flight,  he  resolved  not  to  spend  another  whole  day 
in  the  company  of  such  an  ignorant,  unmannerly  cub. 

On  Mr.  Somerset’s  entrance  into  Lady  Shafto’s  drawing- 
room, he  saw  many  ladies,  but  only  one  gentleman,  who  was, 
the  before-mentioned  Dr.  Denton — a poor,  shallow-headed, 
parasitical  animal.  Pembroke  having  seen  enough  of  him  to 
despise  his  pretensions  both  to  science  and  sincerity,  returned 
his  wide  smirk  and  eager  inquiries  with  a ceremonious  bow, 
and  took  his  seat  by  the  side  of  the  now  delighted  Miss  Dun- 
das  The  vivid  spirits  of  Diana,  which  she  now  strove  to 
render  peculiarly  sparkling,  entertained  him.  When  compared 
with  the  insipid  sameness  of  her  ladyship,  or  the  coarse  ribaldry 
of  her  son,  the  mirth  of  Miss  Dundas  was  wit  and  her  remarks 
wisdom. 

“ Dear  Mr.  Somerset ! ” cried  she,  “ how  good  you  are  to 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


329 


break  this  sad  solemnity.  I vow,  until  you  showed  your  face, 
I I thought  the  days  of  paganism  were  revived,  and  that  lacking 
I men,  we  were  assembled  here  to  celebrate  the  mysteries  of  the 
I Bona  DeaB 

I ^‘Lacking  men!’’  replied  he,  smiling;  “you  have  over- 
j looked  the  assiduous  Doctor  Denton  ? ” 

i “ O,  no ; that  is  a chameleon  in  man’s  clothing.  He  breathes 
I air,  he  eats  air,  he  speaks  air ; and  a most  pestilential  breath  it 
I is.  Only  observe  how  he  is  pouring  its  fumes  into  the  ear  of 
I yonder  sable  statue.” 

I Pembroke  directed  his  eyes  as  Miss  Dundas  desired  him, 

I and  saw  Dr.  Denton  whispering  and  bowing  before  a lady  in 
I black.  The  lady  put  up  her  lip  : the  doctor  proceeded ; she 
I frowned  : he  would  not  be  daunted ; the  lady  rose  from  her 
I seat,  and  slightly  bending  her  head,  crossed  the  room.  Whilst 
! Mr.  Somerset  was  contemplating  her  graceful  figure,  and  fine 
though  pale  features.  Miss  Dundas  touched  his  arm,  and  smih 
ing  satirically,  repeated  in  an  affected  voice — 

Hail,  pensive  nun  ! devout  and  holy  ! 
i Hail,  divinest  Melancholy ! ” 

“ If  she  be  Melancholy,”  returned  Pembroke,  “ I would 
forever  say 

“ Hence,  unholy  Mirth,  of  Folly  born  ! ” 

Miss  Dundas  reddened.  She  never  liked  this  interesting 
woman,  who  was  not  only  too  handsome  for  competition,  but 
possessed  an  understanding  that  would  not  tolerate  ignorance 
or  presumption.  Diana’s  ill-natured  impertinence  having  sev- 
eral times  received  deserved  chastisement  from  that  quarter, 
she  was  vexed  to  the  soul  when  Pembroke  closed  his  animated 
response  with  the  question,  “ Who  is  she  ? ” 

Rather  too  bitterly  for  the  design  on  his  heart.  Miss  Dun- 
das iterated  his  words,  and  then  answered,  “ Why,  she  is  crazed. 
She  lives  in  a place  called  Harrowby  Abbey,  at  the  top  of  that 
hill,”  continued  she,  pointing  through  the  opposite  window  to 
a distant  rising  ground,  on  which  the  moon  was  shining 
brightly ; “ and  I am  told  she  frightens  the  cottagers  out  of 
their  wits  by  her  midnight  strolls.” 

Hardly  knowing,  how  to  credit  this  wild  account,  Pembroke 
asked  his  informer  if  she  were  serious. 

“ Never  more  so.  Her  eyes  are  uncommonly  wild.” 

“You  must  be  jesting,”  returned  he  ; “ they  seem  perfectly 
reasonable.” 


330 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


Miss  Dunclas  laughed.  “ like  Hamlet’s,  they  ' know  not 
seems,  but  have  that  within  which  passeth  show  ! ’ Believe  me, 
she  is  mad  enough  for  Bedlam  ; and  of  that  I could  soon  con- 
vince you.  I wonder  how  Lady  Shafto  thought  of  inviting  her  ; 
she  quite  stupefied  our  dinner.” 

^^Well,”  cried  Pembroke,  if  those  features  announce  mad- 
ness, I shall  never  admire  a look  of  sense  again.” 

Bless  us,”  exclaimed  Miss  Dundas,  ‘‘  you  are  wonderfully 
struck  ! Don’t  you  see  she  is  old  enough  to  be  your  mother  ? ” 

‘‘That  maybe,”  answered  he,  smiling  ; “nevertheless  she 
is  one  of  the  most  lovely  women  I ever  beheld.  “ Come,  tell 
me  her  name.” 

“ I will  satisfy  you  in  a moment,”  rejoined  Diana  ; “ and  then 
away  with  your  rhapsodies  ) She  is  the  very  Countess  of  Tine- 
mouth,  who  brought  that  vagabond  foreigner  to  our  house  who 
would  have  run  off  with  Phemy  ! ” 

“ Lady  Tinemouth  ! ” exclaimed  Pembroke  ; “ 1 never  saw 
her  before.  My  ever-lamented  mother  knew  her  whilst  I was 
abroad,  and  she  esteemed  her  highly.  Pray  introduce  me  to 
her ! ” 

“ Impossible,”  replied  Diana,  vexed  at  the  turn  his  curiosity 
had  taken  ; “ I wrote  to  her  about  the  insidious  wretch,  and 
now  we  don’t  speak.” 

“Then  I will  introduce  myself,”  answered  he.  He  was 
moving  away,  when  Miss  Dundas  caught  his  arm,  and  by  va- 
rious attempts  at  badinage  and  . raillery,  held  him  in  his  place 
until  the  countess  had  made  her  farewell  curtsey  to  Lady 
Shafto,  and  the  door  was  closed. 

Disappointed  by  this  manoeuvre,  Pembroke  re-seated  him- 
self ; and  wondering  why  his  aunt  and  cousin  had  not  heard  of 
Lady  Tinemouth’s  arrival  at  Harrowby,  he  determined  to  wait 
on  her  next  day.  Regardless  of  every  word  which  the  provoked 
Diana  addressed  to  him,  he  remained  silent  and  meditating, 
until  the  loud  voice  of  Shafto,  bellowing  in  his  ear,  made  Tim 
turn  suddenly  round.  Miss  Dundas  tried  to  laugh  at  his  reve- 
rie, though  she  knew  that  such  a flagrant  instance  of  inattention 
was  death  to  her  hopes ; but  Pembroke,  not  inclined  to  partake 
in  the  jest,  coolly  asked  his  bearish  companion  what  he  wanted  ? 

“ Nothing,”  cried  he,  “but  to  hear  you  speak  ! Miss  Dun- 
das tells  me  you  have  lost  your  heart  to  yonder  grim  countess  ? 
My  mother  wanted  me  to  gallant  her  up  the  hill  ; but  I would 
see  her  in  the  river  first ! ” 

“ Shafto  ! ” answered  Pembroke,  rising  from  his  chair,  “ you 
cannot  be  speaking  of  Lady  Tinemouth  ? ” 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


33'f 


‘‘  Efaith  1 am/’  roared  he  \ and  if  she  be  such  a scamp  as 
to  live  without  a carriage,  I won’t  be  her  lackey  for  nothing. 
The  matter  of  a mile  is  not  to  be  tramped  over  by  me  with  no 
pleasanter  companion  than  an  old  painted  woman  of  quality.” 

Surely  you  cannot  mean,”  returned  Pembroke,  that  her 
ladyship  was  to  walk  from  this  place  ? ” 

•‘Without  a doubt,”  cried  Shafto,  bursting  into  a hoarse 
laugh;  “you  would  be  clever  to  see  my  Lady  Stingy  in  any 
other  carriage  than  her  clogs. 

Irritated  at  the  malice  of  Miss  Dundas,  and  despising  the 
vulgar  illiberality  of  Shafto,  without  deigning  a reply,  Pem- 
broke abruptly  left  the  room,  and  hastening  out  of  the  house, 
ran,  rather  than  walked,  in  hopes  of  overtaking  the  countess 
before  she  reached  Harrowby. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE  VALE  OF  GRANTHAM. — BELVOIR. 

Pembroke  crossed  the  little  wooden  bridge  which  lies  over 
the  Witham  ; he  scoured  the  field  ; he  leaped  every  stile  and 
gate  in  his  way,  and  at  last  gained  the  enclosure  that  leads  to 
the  top  of  the  hill,  where  he  descried  a light  moving,  and  very 
rightly  conjectured  it  must  be  the  lantern  carried  by  the  coun- 
tess’s attendant.  Another  spring  over  the  shattered  fence 
cleared  all  obstacles,  and  he  found  himself  close  to  Lady  Tine- 
mouth,  who  was  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a gentleman.  Pembroke 
stopped  at  this  sight.  Supposing  she  had  been  met  by  some 
person  belonging  to  the  neighborhood,  whose  readier  gallantry 
now  occupied  the  place  which  Miss  Dundas  had  prevented  him 
from  filling,  he  was  preparing  to  retreat,  when  Lady  Tinemouth 
happening  to  turn  her  head,  imagined,  from  the  hesitating  em- 
barrassment of  his  manner,  that  he  was  a stranger,  who  had 
lost  his  way,  and  accosted  him  with  that  inquiry. 

Pembroke  bowed  in  some  confusion,  and  related  the  simple 
fact  of  his  having  heard  that  she  had  quitted  Lady  Shafto’s 
house  without  any  guard  but  the  servant,  and  that  the 
moment  he  learned  the  circumstance  he  had  hurried  out  to 
proffer  his  services.  The  countess  not  only  thanked  him  for 
such  attention,  but,  constrained  by  a civility  which  at  that  in- 


332 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


stant  she  could  have  wished  not  to  have  been  necessary,  asked 
him  to  walk  forward  with  her  to  the  abbey,  and  partake  of  some 
refreshment. 

“ But,’’  added  she,  “ though  I perfectly  recollect  having 
seen  another  gentleman  in  Lady  Shafto’s  room  besides  Doctor 
Denton,  I have  not  the  honor  of  knowing  your  name.” 

It  is  Somerset,”  returned  Pembroke ; “ I am  the  son  of 
that  Lady  Somerset,  who,  during  the  last  year  of  her  life,  had 
the  happiness  of  being  intimate  with  your  ladyship.” 

Lady  Tinemouth  expressed  her  pleasure  at  this  meeting ; 
and  turning  to  the  gentleman  who  was  walking  in  silence  by 
her  side,  said,  ‘‘  Mr.  Constantine,  allow  me  to  introduce  to  you 
the  cousin  oLthe  amiable  Miss  Beaufort.” 

Thaddeus,  who  had  too  well  recognized  the  voice  of  his 
false  friend  in  the  first  accents  he  addressed  to  the  countess, 
with  a swelling  heart  bent  his  head  to  the  cold  salutation  of 
Somerset.  Hearing  that  her  ladyship’s  companion  was  the 
same  Constantine  whom  he  had  liberated  from  prison,  Pem- 
broke was  stimulated  with  a desire  to  take  the  perhaps  favor- 
able occasion  to  unmask  his  double  villany  to  Lady  Tine- 
mouth  ; and  conceiving  a curiosity  to  see  the  man  whose  per- 
son and  meretricious  qualities  had  blinded  the  judgment  of  his 
aunt  and  cousin,  he  readily  obeyed  the  second  invitation  of  the 
countess,  and  consented  to  go  home  and  sup  with  her. 

Meanwhile,  Thaddeus  was  agitated  with  a variety  of  emo- 
rions.  Every  tone  of  Pembroke’s  voice,  reminding  him  of 
happier  days,  pierced  his  heart,  whilst  a sense  of  his  ingratitude 
awakened  all  the  pride  and  indignation  of  his  soul.  Full  of  re- 
sentment, he  determined  that,  whatever  might  be  the  result,  he 
would  not  shrink  from  an  interview,  the  anticipation  of  which 
Pembroke  (who  had  received  from  himself  an  intimation  of  the 
name  he  had  assumed)  seemed  to  regard  with  so  much  con- 
temptuous indifference. 

Not  imagining  that  Somerset  and  the  count  had  any  per- 
sonal knowledge  of  each  other,  Lady  Tinemouth  begged  the 
gentlemen  to  accompany  her  into  the  supper-parlor.  Pem- 
broke, with  inconsiderate,  real  indifference,  passed  by  Thad- 
deus to  give  his  hand  to  the  countess.  Thaddeus  was  so 
shocked  at  this  instance  of  something  very  like  a personal 
affront,  that,  insulted  in  every  nerve,  he  was  obliged  to  pause 
a moment  in  the  hall,  to  summon  coolness  to  follow  him  with 
a composed  step  and  dispassionate  countenance.  He  accom- 
plished this  conquest  over  himself,  and  taking  off  his  hat, 
entered  the  room.  Lady  Tinemouth  began  to  congratulate 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  333 

herseit  with  many  kind  expressions  on  his  arrival.  The  eyes 
of  Pembroke  fixed  themselves  on  the  calm  but  severe  aspect 
of  the  man  before  him  ; he  stood  by  the  table  with  such  an 
air  of  noble  greatness,  that  the  candid  heart  of  Pembroke 
Somerset  soon  whispered  to  himself,  ‘‘  Sure  nothing  ill  can 
dwell  in  such  a breast ! 

Still  his  eyes  followed  him,  when  he  turned  round,  and 
when  he  bent  his  head  to  answer  the  countess,  but  in  a voice 
so  low  that  it  escaped  his  ear.  Pembroke  was  bewildered. 
There  was  something  in  thefeatures,in  the  mien  of  this  foreigner, 
so  like  his  friend  Sobieski ! But  then  Sobieski  was  all  frankness 
and  animation  ; his  cheek  bloomed  with  the  rich  coloring  of  youth 
and  happiness  ; his  eyes  flashed  pleasure,  and  his  lips  were 
decked  with  smiles.  On  the  contrary,  the  person  before  him  was 
not  only  considerably  taller,  and  of  more  manly  proportions,  but 
his  face  was  pale,  reserved,  and  haughty  ; besides,  he  did  not 
appear  even  to  recollect  the  name  of  Somerset ; and  what  at 
once  might  destroy  the  supposition,  his  own  was  simply  Con- 
stantine. 

These  reasonings  having  quickly  passed  through  the  mind 
of  Pembroke,  they  left  his  heart  unsatisfied.  The  conflict  of 
his  doubts  flushed  his  cheeks ; his  bosom  beat ; and  keeping 
his  searching  and  ardent  gaze  riveted  on  the  man  who  was 
either  his  friend  or  his  counterpart,  on  Lady  Tinemouth  turn- 
ing away  to  lay  her  ^loak  down,  the  eyes  of  the  young  men 
met.  Thaddeus  turned  paler  than  before.  There  is  an  intel- 
ligence in  the  interchange  of  looks  which  cannot  be  mistaken  ; 
it  is  the  communication  of  souls,  and  there  is  no  deception  in 
their  language.  Pembroke  flew  forward,  and  catching  hold  of 
his  friend’s  hand,  exclaimed  in  an  impetuous  voice,  Am  I 
right  ? Are  you  Sobieski  ? ” 

“ I am,”  returned  Thaddeus,  almost  inarticulate  with  emo- 
tion, and  hardly  knowing  what  to  understand  by  Somerset’s 
behavior. 

“ Gracious  heaven  ! ” cried  he,  still  grasping  his  hand  ; 
“ can  you  have  forgotten  your  friend  Pembroke  Somerset  ? ” 

The  ingenuous  heart  of  Thaddeus.  acknowledged  the  words 
and  manner  of  Pembroke  to  be  the  language  of  truth.  Trust- 
ing that  some  mistake  had  involved  his  former  conduct,  he  at 
once  cast  olf  suspicion,  and  throwing  his  arms  around  him, 
strained  him  to  his  breast  and  burst  into  tears. 

Lady  Tinemouth,  who  during  this  scene  stood  mute  with 
surprise,  now  advanced  to  the  friends,  who  were  weeping  on 
each  other’s  necks,  and  taking  a hand  of  each,  “ My  deaf 


S34 


THADDEUS  OF  IVARSAW. 

Sobieski,”  cried  she,  why  did  you  withhold  the  knowledge 
of  this  friendship  from  me  ? Had  you  told  me  that  you  and 
Mr.  Somerset  were  acquainted,  this  happy  meeting  might  have 
been  accomplished  sooner.” 

^^Yes,”  replied  Pembroke,  turning  to  the  countess,  and 
wiping  away  the  tears  which  were  trembling  on  his  cheek  ; 
“ nothing  could  have  given  me  pain  at  this  moment  but  tl;e 
conviction  that  he  who  was  the  preserver  of  my  life,  and  my 
most  generous  protector,  should  in  this  country  have  endurev! 
the  most  abject  distress  rather  than  let  me  know  it  was  in  my 
power  to  be  grateful.” 

• Thaddeus  took  out  his  handkerchief,  and  for  a few  moments 
concealed  his  face.  The  countess  looked  on  him  with  tender- 
ness; and  believing  he  would  sooner  regain  composure  were 
he  alone  with  his  friend,  she  stole  unobserved  out  of  the  room. 

. Pembroke  affectionately  resumed : “ But  I hope,  dear  So- 
bieski,  you  will  never  leave  me  more.  I have  an  excellent 
father,  who,  when  he  is  made  acquainted  with  my  obligations 
to  you  and  your  noble  family,  will  glory  in  loving  you  as  a 
son.” 

Having  subdued  ‘‘the  woman  in  his  heart,”  Thaddeus 
raised  his  head  with  an  expression  in  his  eyes  far  different  from 
that  which  had  chilled  the  blood  of  Pembroke  on  their  first 
encounter. 

“ Circumstances,”  said  he,  “ dear  Somerset,  have  made 
me  greatly  injure  you.  A strange  neglect  on  your  side,  since 
we  separated  at  Villanow,  gave  the  first  blow  to  my  confidence 
in  your  friendship.  Though  I lost  your  direct  address,  I wrote 
to  you  often,  and  yet  you  persevered  in  silence.  After  having 
witnessed  the  destruction  of  all  that  was  dear  to  me  in  Poland, 
and  then  of  Poland  itself,  when  I came  to  England  I wished 
to  give  your  faithfulness  another  chance.  I addressed  two 
letters  to  you.  I even  delivered  the  last  at  your  door  myself, 
and  I saw  you  in  the  window  when  I sent  it  in.” 

“ By  all  that  is  sacred,”  cried  Pembroke,  vehemently,  and 
amazed,  “ I never  saw  any  letter  from  you ! I wrote  you 
many.  I never  heard  of  those  you  mention.  Indeed,  I should 
even  now  have  been  ignorant  of  the  palatine’s  and  your  mother’s 
cruel  fate  had  it  not  been  too  circumstantially  related  in  the 
newspapers.” 

“ I believe  you,”  returned  Thaddeus,  drawing  an  agonizing 
sigh  at  the  dreadful  picture  which,  the  last  sentence  recalled. 
“ I believe  you  ; though  at  the  time  of  which  T speak,  I thought 
otherwise,  for  both  my  last  letters  were  re-enclosed  to  me  in  a 


TBADDEUS  OF  IVAFSAtV. 


335 

blank  cover,  directed  as  if  by  your  hand,  and  brought  by  a 
servant,  with  a message  that  there  was  no  answer.” 

Amazing  ! exclaimed  Somerset ; “ there  must  be  some 
horrible  treachery  ! Can  it  be  that  some  lurking  foreign  spy 
got  amongst  my  servants  at  Dantzic,  and  has  been  this  traitor 
ever  since  Oh,  Thaddeus  ! ” cried  he,  abruptly  interrupting 
himself,  and  grasping  his  hand,  I would  have  flown  to  you, 
had  it  been  to  meet  death,  instead  of  the  greatest  joy  Heaven 
could  bestow  upon  me.  But  why  did  you  not  come  in  yourself 
then  no  mistake  could  have  happened  ! Oh,  .why  did  you  not 
come  in  ? ” 

Because  I was  uncertain  of  your  sentiments.  My  first 
letter  remained  unnoticed  ; and  my  heart,  dear  Somerset,” 
added  he,  pressing  his  hand,  would  not  stoop  to  solicitation.” 

Solicitation  ! ” exclaimed  Pembroke,  with  warmth  ; ‘‘you 
have  a right  to  demand  my  life  ! But  there  i?  some  deep  vil- 
lany  in  this  affair  ; nothing  else  could  have  carried  it  through. 
Oh,  if  anybody  belonging  to  me  have  dared  to  open  these  let- 
ters— Oh,  Sobieski ! ” cried  he,  interrupting  himself,  “ how 
you  must  have  despised  me  ! ” 

“ I was  afflicted,”  returned  Thaddeus,  “ that  the  man  whom 
my  family  so  warmly  loved  could  prove  so  unworthy  ; and  al  ter- 
wards,  whenever  I met  you  in  the  streets,  which  I think  was 
more  than  once  or  twice,  I confess  that  to  pass  you  cut  me  to 
the  heart.” 

“And  you  have  met  me  ? ” exclaimed  Pembroke,  “ and  I 
not  see  you ; I cannot  comprehend  it.” 

“Yes,”  answered  Thaddeus;  “and  the  first  time  was  going 
into  the  playhouse.  I believe  I called  after  you.” 

“ Is  it  not  now  ten  months  since  ? ” returned  Pembroke. 
“ I remember  very  well  that  some  one  called  out  my  name  in  a 
voice  that  seemed  known  to  me,  while  I was  handing  Lady 
Calthorpe  and  her  sister  into  the  porch.  I looked  about,  but 
not  seeing  any  one  I knew,  I thought  I must  have  been  mistaken. 
But  why,  dear  Sobieski,  why  did  you  not  follow  me  into  the 
theatre  ? ” 

Thaddeus  shook  his  head  and  smiled  languidly.  “ My 
poverty  would  not  permit,”  replied  he ; “ but  I waited  in  the 
hall  until  everybody  left  the  house,  in  hopes  of  intercepting  you 
as  you  passed  again.” 

Pembroke  sprung  from  his  chair  at  these  words,  and  with 
vehemence  exclaimed,  “ I see  it ! That  hypocrite  Loftus  is  at 
the  bottom  of  it  ! He  followed  me  into  the  theatre  ; he  must 
have  seen  you,  and  his  cursed  selfishness  was  alarmed.  Yes  ; 


THADDEUS  OF  WAESAW'. 


33^> 

it  is  no  foreign  traitor!  it  must  be  he ! He  would  not  allow 
me  to  return  that  way.  When  I said  I would,  he  told  me  a 
thousand  lies  about  the  carriages  coming  round ; and  I,  be- 
lieving him,  went  out  by  another  door.  I will  tax  him  of  it  to 
his  face  ! ’’  i 

“ Who  is  Mr.  Loftus  ? ” inquired  Thaddeus,  surprised  at  his| 
friend’s  suspicion  ; “ I do  not  know  the  man.” 

‘‘  What  1 ” returned  Pembroke,  don’t  you  remember  that 
Loftus  is  the  name  of  my  scoundrel  tutor  who  persuaded  me  to 
volunteer  against  Poland  ? To  screen  his  baseness  I have 
brought  all  this  upon  myself.” 

‘‘Now  I recp*llect  it,”  replied  Thaddeus;  “but  I never  saw 
him.” 

“Yet  I am  not  less  certain  that  I am  right,’’  replied  Somer- 
set. “I  will  tell  you  my  reasons.  After  I quitted  Villanow, 
you  may  remember  I was  to  meet  him  at  Dantzic.  Before  we 
left  the  port,  he  implored,  almost  on  his  knees,  that  in  pity  to| 
his  mother  and  ‘listers,  whom  he  said  he  supported  out  of  his 
salary,  I would  re.jain  from  incensing  my  parents  against  him 
by  relating  any  circumstance  of  our  visit  to  Poland.  The  mani 
shed  tears  as  he.  spoke  ; and,  like  a fool,  I consented  to  keep 
the  secret  till  the  Vicar  of  Somerset  (a  poor  soul,  still  ill  of 
dropsy)  dies,  and  he  be  in  possession  of  the  living.  When  we 
landed  in  England,  I found  the  cause  of  my  sudden  recall  had 
been  the  illness  of  my  dear  mother.  But  Heaven  denied  me 
the  happiness  of  beholding  her  again  ; she  had  been  buried  twc 
days  before  I reached  the  shore. Pembroke  paused  a mo 
ment,  and  then  resumed  : “ For  near  a month  after  my  return,  1 
could  not  quit  my  room  ; on  my  recovery,  I wrote  both  to  yon 
and  to  the  palatine.  But  I still  locked  up  your  names  withii' 
my  heart,  the  old  rector  being  yet  in  existence.  I repeated  m\ 
letters  at  least  every  six  weeks  during  the  first  year  of  our  sep 
aration,  though  you  persisted  in  being  silent.  Hurt  as  I was 
at  this  neglect,  I believed  that  gratitude  demanded  some  sacri 
fices  from  pride,  and  I continued  to  write  even  till  the  spring 
following.  Meanwhile  the  papers  of  the  day  teemed  with  Sobi 
eski’s  actions — Sobieski’s  fam.e  ; and  supposing  that  increasing 
glory  had  blotted  me  out  of  your  memory,  I resolved  thence 
forth  to  regard  our  friendship  as  a dream,  and  never  to  speal 
of  it  more.” 

Confounded  at  this  double  misapprehension,  Thaddeus  witi 
a glowing  countenance  expressed  his  regret  for  having  doubtec 
his  friend^  and  repeating  the  assurance  of  having  been  punctua 
to  his  promise  of  correspondence,  even  when  he  dreamed  hin 


TIIADDEUS  OF  IVARSAl^F. 


3Z7 

inconstant,  acknowledged  that  nothing  but  a premeditated 
flcheme  could  have  effected  so  many  disappointments. 

‘‘  Ay,”  returned  Pembroke,  reddening  with  awakened  anger ; 

I could  swear  that  Mr.  Loftus  has  all  my  letters  in  his  bureau 
at  this  moment ! No  house  ever  gave  a man  a better  oppor- 
tunity to  play  the  rogue  in  than  ours.  It  is  a custom  with  us  to 
fay  our  letters  every  morning  on  the  hall-table,  whence  they  are 
.sent  to  the  office  ; and  when  the  post  arrives  they  are  spread 
out  in  the  same  way,  that  their  several  owners  may  take  them 
as  they  pass  to  breakfast.  From  this  arrangement  I cannot 
^oubt  the  means  by  which  Mr.  Loftus,  under  the  hope  of  sepa- 
i'ating  us  forever,  has  intercepted  every  letter  to  you  and  every 
better  from  you.  1 suppose  the  wretch  feared  I might  become 
impatient,  and  break  my  engagement  if  our  correspondence 
vvere  allowed.  He  trembled  lest  the  business  should  be  blown 
before  the  rector  died,  and  he,  in  consequence,  lose  both  the 
expected  living  and  his  present  situation  about  Lord  Avon.  A 
vdllain  1 for  once  he  has  judged  rightly.  I will  unmask  him  to 
my  father,  and  show  him  what  it  is  to  purchase  advancement 
at  the  expense  of  honor  and  justice.” 

Thaddeus,  who  could  not  withhold  immediate  credit  to  these 
evidences  of  chicanery,  tried  to  calm  the  violence  of  his  friend, 
who  only  answered  by  insisting  on  having  his  company  back 
with  him  to  Somerset  Castle. 

“ I long  to  present  you  to  my  father,”  cried  he.  ‘‘  When  I 
tell  him  who  you  are,  of  your  kindness  to  me,  how  rejoiced  will 
he  be  ! How  happy,  how  proud  to  have  you  his  guest;  to  show 
the  grandson  of  the  Palatine  of  Masovia  the  warm  gratitude  of 
a Briton  s heart  ! Indeed,  Sobieski,  you  will  love  him,  for  he 
is  generous  and  noble,  like  your  inestimable  grandfather. 
Besides,”  added  he,  smiling  with  a sudden  recollection,  ‘‘there 
is  my  lovely  cousin,  Mary  Beaufort,  who  I verily  believe  will  fly 
into  your  arms  ! ” 

The  blood  rushed  over  the  cheeks  of  Thaddeus  at  this  speech 
of  his  friend,  and  suppressing  a bitter  sigh,  he  shook  his  hpad. 

“Don’t  look  so  like  an  infidel,”  resumed  Somerset.  “If 
you  have  any  doubts  of  possessing  her  most  precious  feelings, 

I can  put  you  out  of  your  suspense  by  a single  sentence  ! When 
Lady  Dundas’s  household,  with  myself  amongst  them  (for  little 
did  I suspect  I w^as  joining  the  cry  against  my  friend),  were  as- 
serting the  most  flagrant  instances  of  your  deceit  to  Euphemia, 
Mary  alone  withstood  the  tide  of  malice,  and  compelled  me  to 
release  you.” 

‘‘  Gracious  Providence  ! ' ^ried  Thaddeus,  catching  Pern 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


338 

broke’s  hand,  and  looking  eagerly  and  with  agitation  in  his  face 
“ was  it  you  who  came  to  my  prison  ? Was  it  Miss  Beaufort 

who  visited  my  lodgings  ? ” . . , t ui  u t 

“ Indeed  it  was,”  returned  his  friend,  and  I blush  for  my- 
self that  I quitted  Newgate  without  an  interview.  Had  I fol- 
lowed the  dictates  of  common  courtesy,  in  the  fulfilment  of  rny 
commission,  I should  have  seen  you;  and  then,  what  pain 
would  have  been  spared  my  dear  cousin  ! What  a joyful  sur- 
prise would  have  awaited  myself ! ” .....  j,  u j 

Thaddeus  could  only  reply  by  pressing  his  friend  s hand. 
His  brain  whirled.  He  could  not  decide  on  the  nature  of  his 
feelings  ; one  moment  he  would  have  given  worlds  to  throw  him- 
self at  Miss  Beaufort’s  feet,  and  the  next  he  trembled  at  the 
prospect  of  meeting  her  so  soon. 

“ Dear  Sobieski ! ” cried  Pembroke,  “ how  strangely  you  re- 
ceive this  intelligence ! Is  it  possible  such  sentiments  from 
Mary  Beaufort  can  be  regarded  by  a soul  like  yours  with 
coldness  ? 

“ O no  ' ” cried  the  count,  his  fine  face  flushed  with  emo- 
tion. “ I adore  Miss  Beaufort.  Her  virtues  possess  my  whole 
heart.  But  can  I forget  that  I have  only  that  heart  to  oner . 
Can  I forget  that  I am  a beggar  ?— that  even  now  I exist  on  fier 
bounty  ? ” The  eyes  of  Thaddeus,  and  the  sudden  tremor  which 
shook  his  frame,  finished  this  appeal  to  his  fate.  ^ a-  . 

Pembroke  found  it  enter  his  soul.  To  hide  its  effect,  he 
threw  himself  on  his  friend’s  breast,  and  exclaimed.  Do  not 
injure  me  and  my  father  by  such  thoughts.  You  are  come, 
dearest  Sobieski,  to  a second  home.  Sir  Robert  Somerset  will 
consider  himself  ennobled  in  supplying  the  place  your  lament- 
ed grandfather— in  endowing  you  like  a son  ! Oh,  Ihaddeus, 
you  must  be  my  cousin,  dear  as  a brother,  as  well  as  my  friend  ! 

Thaddeus  replied  with  an  agitated  affection  as  true  as  that 
ef  the  generous  speaker.  “ But,”  added  he,  “ I must  not  allow 
the  noble  heart  of  my  now  regained  Somerset  to  believe  that  I 
can  live  a dependent  on  any  power  but  the  Author  of  my  being. 
Therefore,  if  Sir  Ro'bert  Somerset  will  assist  me  to  procure 
some  unobtrusive  way  of  acquiring  my  own  support  in  the  sim 
plicity  I wish,  I shall  thank  him  from  my  soul.  In  no  other  way 
my  kindest  friend,  can  I ever  be  brought  to  tax  the  munificence 

©f  your  father.”  , . 1 . • c jco 

Pembroke  colored  at  this,  and  exclaimed,  in  a voice  of  ais 
tress  and  displeasure,  “ Sobieski ! what  can  you  mean  ? Do  yoi 
imagine  that  ever  my  father  or  myself  can  forget  that  you  were 
little  less  than  a orince  in  your  own  country  ?— that  when  n 


THADDEUS  OF  WAESAli  . 


339 


so  high  a station  you  treated  me  like  a brother ; that  you  pre- 
served me  even  when  I lifted  my  arm  against  your  life.  Can  we 
be  such  monsters  as  to  forget  all  this,  or  to  think  that  we  act 
justly  by  you  in  permitting  you  to  labor  for  your  bread  ? No, 
Thaddeus  ; my  very  soul  spurns  the  idea.  Your  mother  shel- 
tered me  as  a son  ; and  I insist  that  you  allow  my  father  to  per- 
form the  same  part  by  you  ! Besides,  you  shall  not  be  idle  ; you 
may  have  a commission  in  the  army,  and  1 will  follow  you.’^ 

The  count  pressed  the  hand  of  his  friend,  and  looking 
gratefully  but  mournfully  in  his  face,  replied,  “ Had  I a hun- 
dred tongues,  my  generous  Pembroke,  I could  not  express  my 
sense  of  your  friendship ; it  is  indeed  a cordial  to  my  heart ; it 
imparts  to  me  an  earnest  of  happiness  which  I thought  had  fled 
forever.  But  it  shall  not  allure  me  from  my  principles.  I am 
resolved  not  to  live  a life  of  indolent  uselessness ; and  I can- 
not, at  this  period,  enter  the  British  army.  No,’'  added  he, 
emotion  elevating  his  tone  and  manner ; “ rather  would  I toil 
for  subsistence  by  the  sweat  of  my  brow  than  be  subjected  to 
the  necessity  of  acting  in  concert  with  those  ravagers  who 
destroyed  my  country  ! I cannot  fight  by  the  side  of  the  allied 
powers  who  dismembered  it ! I cannot  enlist  under  the  allies  ! 
I will  not  be  led  out  to  devastation ! Mine  was,  and  ever  shall 
be,  a defensive  sword  ; and  should  danger  threaten  England,  1 
would  be  as  ready  to  withstand  her  enemies  as  I ardently, 
though  ineffectually,  opposed  those  of  unhappy  Poland.” 

Pembroke  recognized  the  devoted  soul  of  Thaddeus  of 
Warsaw  in  this  lofty  burst  of  enthusiasm  ; and  aware  that  his 
father’s  munificence  and  manner  of  conferring  it  would  go 
further  towards  removing  these  scruples  than  all  his  own  argu- 
ments, he  did  not  attempt  to  combat  a resolution  which  he  knew 
he  could  not  subdue,  but  tried  to  prevail  with  him  to  become 
his  guest  until  something  could  be  arranged  to  suit  his  wishes. 

With  an  unuttered  emotion  at  the  thought  of  meeting  Miss 
Beaufort,  Thaddeus  had  just  consented  to  accompany  Somer- 
set to  the  Castle,  after  Sir  Robert  had  been  apprized  of  his 
coming,  when  the  countess's  old  and  faithfully-attached  man- 
servant entered,  and  respectfully  informed  her  guests  that  his 
lady,  not  willing  to  disturb  their  conversation,  had  retired  to 
her  room  for  the  night,  but  that  beds  were  prepared  for  them 
in  the  Abbey,  and  she  hoped  to  meet  both  friends  at  her  break- 
fast-table in  the  morning.  The  honest  man  then  added,  “It 
was  now  past  eleven  o'clock  ; and  after  their  honors  had  par- 
taken of  their  yet  untasted  refreshment,  he  would  be  ready  to 
attend  them  to  their  chambers.” 


340 


HADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


Pembroke  started  up  at  this,  and  shaking  his  friend  warmly 
by  the  hand,  bade  him,  he  said,  a short  farewell  ; and  has- 
tening down  the  hill,  arrived  at  the  gate  of  the  Wold  Lodge  just 
at  the  turn  of  midnight. 

At  an  early  hour  the  next  morning  he  gave  orders  to  his 
groom,  wrote  a slight  apology  to  Shafto  for  his  abrupt  depart- 
ture,  and,  mounting  his  fleet  horse,  galloped  away  full  of  de- 
light towards  Somerset  Castle. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

SOMERSET  CASTLE. 

But  Sobieski  did  not  follow  the  attentive  domestic  of  his 
maternal  friend  to  the  prepared  apartment  in  the  Abbey.  He 
asked  to  be  conducted  back  through  the  night-shadowed  grounds 
to  the  little  hotel  he  had  seen  early  in  the  evening  on  his  ap- 
proach to  the  mansion.  It  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  ad- 
joining village,  and  under  its  rustic  porch  he  had  immediately 
entered,  to  engage  a lodging  beneath  its  humble  sign,  “ The 
Plough,'^  for  the  few  days  of  his  intended  visit  to  Lady  Tine- 
mouth.  A boy  had  been  his  guide,  and  bearer  of  his  small 
travelling-bag,  from  th'e  famous  old  Commandery  inn,  the 
“ Angel, at  Grantham,  where  the  Wold  diligence  had  set  him 
down  in  the  afternoon  at  the  top  of  the  market-place  of  that 
memorable  town  of  ancient  chivalry,  to  find  his  way  up  to  the 
occasional  rural  palace  cells  on  Harrowby  Hill,  of  the  same 
doughty  and  luxurious  knights  who  were  now  lying,  individu- 
ally forgotten,  in  their  not  only  silent  but  unknown  graves, 
there  not  being  a trace  of  them  amongst  the  chapel  ruins  of 
the  Abbey,  nor  below  the  hill,  on  the  sight  of  the  old  Com- 
mandery church  at  Grantham. 

‘‘  Ah,  transit  mundi ! ’’  exclaimed  Thaddeus  to  himself,  with 
a calmed  sigh,  as  he  thought  on  those  things,  while  resting  i 
under  the  modest  little  portal  of  the  hotel,  whose  former 
magnificence,  wdien  a hermit  cell,  might  still  be  discernible  in  a 
few  remaining  remnants  of  the  rich  Gothic  lintel  yet  mingling 
with  the  matted  straws  and  the  clinging  ivy  of  the  thatch. 

'‘What  art  thou,  world,  and  thine  ambitions?”  again 
echoed  in  silence  from  the  heart  of  Thaddeus.  “ 'Fhough  yet 
so  young,  I have  seen  thee  in  all  thy  phases  which  might  wean 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


341 


me  from  this  earth.  But  there  are  still  some  beings  dear  to 
me  in  the  dimmed  aspect,  that  seem  to  hold  my  hopes  to  this 
transitory  and  yet  too  lovely  world.”  He  was  then  thinking  of 
his  restored  friend  Peihbroke  Somerset,  and  of  her  whose 
name  had  been  so  fondly  uttered  by  him,  as  a possible  bond 
of  their  still  more  intimate  relationship.  He  tried  to  quell  the 
wild  hope  this  recollection  waked  in  his  bosom,  and  hurried 
from  the  little  parlor  of  the  inn,  where  Lady  Tinemouth’s  old 
servant  had  left  him,  to  seek  repose  in  his  humbly-prepared 
chamber. 

At  sight  of  its  white-robed  bed  and  simple  furniture,  and 
instantly  conscious  to  the  balmy  effects  of  the  sweet  freshness 
that  breathed  around  him,  where  no  perfume  but  that  of  flowers 
ever  entered,  his  agitated  feelings  soon  became  soothed  into 
serenity,  and  within  a quarter  of  an  hour  after  he  had  laid  his 
grateful  head  on  that  quiet  pillow,  he  had  sunk  to  a sleep  of 
gentle  peace  with  man  and  Heaven. 

Next  morning,  when  the  countess  met  her  gladly  re-wel- 
comed guest  at  the  breakfast-table,  she  expressed  surprise  and 
pleasure  at  the  scene  of  the  preceding  night,  but  intimated 
some  mortification  that  he  had  withheld  any  part  of  his  confi- 
dence from  her.  Sobieski  soon  obtained  her  pardon,  by  relating 
the  manner  of  his  first  meeting  with  Mr.  Somerset  in  Poland, 
and  the  consequent  events  of  that  momentous  period. 

Lady  Tinemouth  wept  over  the  distressful  fate  that  marked 
the  residue  of  his  narrative  with  a tenderness  which  yet  more 
endeared  her  to  his  soul.  But  when,  in  compliance  with  his 
inquiries,  she  informed  him  how  it  happened  that  he  had  to 
seek  her  at  Harrowby  Abbey,  when  he  supposed  her  to  be  on 
the  Wolds,  it  was  his  turn  to  pity,  and  to  shudder  at  his  own 
consanguinity  with  Lord  Harwold. 

Indeed,”  added  the  countess,  wishing  to  turn  from  the 
painful  subject,  you  must  have  had  a most  tedious  journey 
from  Harwold  Park  to  Harrowby,  and  nothing  but  my  pleas- 
ure could  exceed  my  astonishment  when  I met  you  last  night 
on  the  hill.” 

Thaddeus  sincerely  declared  that  travelling  a few  miles 
further  than  he  intended  was  no  fatigue  to  him ; yet,  were  it 
otherwise,  the  happiness  which  he  then  enjoyed  would  have 
acted  as  a panacea  for  worse  ills,  could  he  have  seen  her  look- 
ing as  well  as  when  she  left  London. 

Lady  Tinemouth  smiled.  ‘‘You  are  right,  Sobieski.  I am 
worse  than  when  I was  in  town.  My  solitary  journey  to  Viai- 
wold  oppressed  me  j and  when  my  son  sent  me  orders  to  leave 


34* 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


it,  because  his  father  wanted  the  place  for  the  autumnn] 
months,  his  capricious  cruelty  seemed  to  augment  the  hectic 
of  my  distress.  Nevertheless,  I immediately  obeyed,  and  in 
augmented  disorder,  arrived  here  last  week.  But  how  kind 
you  were  to  follow  me ! Who  informed  you  of  the  place  of  my 
destination  ? — hardly  any  of  Lady  Olivia's  household  ? ” 

“ No,"  returned  Thaddeus  ; “ I luckily  had  the  precautipn 
to  inquire  at  the  inn  on  the  Wolds  where  the  coach  stopped, 
what  part  of  Lord  Tinemouth’s  family  were  at  the  Park  ; and 
when  I heard  that  the  earl  himself  was  there,  my  next  question 
was,  Where,  then,  was  the  countess.^"  The  landlord  very 
civilly  told  me  of  your  having  engaged  a carriage  from  his 
house  a day  or  two  before,  to  carry  you  to  one  of  his  lordship’s 
seats  within  a few  miles  of  Somerset  Castle.  Hence,  from 
what  I heard  you  say  of  the  situation  of  Harrowby,  I concluded 
it  must  be  the  Abbey,  and  so  I sought  you  at  a venture." 

‘‘  And  I hope  a happy  issue,"  replied  she,  will  arise  from 
your  wanderings  ! This  rencontre  with  so  old  a friend  as  Mr. 
Somerset  is  a pleasing  omen.  For  my  part,  I was  ignorant  of 
the  arrival  of  the  family  at  the  Castle  until  yesterday  morning, 
and  then  I sent  off  a messenger  to  apprize  my  dear  Miss  Beau- 
fort of  my  being  in  her  neighborhood.  To  my  great  disap- 
pointment, Lady  Shafto  found  me  out  immediately  ; and  when, 
in  compliance  with  her  importunate  invitation,  1 walked  down 
to  an  early  dinner  with  her  yesterday,  little  did  I expect  to 
meet  the  amiable  cousin  of  our  sweet  friend.  So  delightful  an 
accident  has  amply  repaid  me  for  the  pain  I endured  in  seei!yg 
Miss  Dundas  at  the  Lodge  ; an  insolent  and  reproachful  letter 
which  she  wrote  to  me  concerning  you  has  rendered  her  an 
object  of  my  aversion." 

Thaddeus  smiled  and  gently  bent  his  head.  ‘‘  Since,  my 
dear  Lady  Tinemouth,  her  groundless  malice  and  Miss  Euphe- 
mia’s  folly  have  failed  in  estranging  either  your  confidence  or 
the  esteem  of  Miss  Beaufort  from  me,  1 pardon  them  both. 
Perhaps  I ought  to  pity  them  ; for  is  it  not  difficult  to  pass 
through  the  brilliant  snares  of  wealth  and  adulation  and  emerge 
pure  as  when  we  entered  them  ? Unclouded  fortune  is,  indeed, 
a trial  of  spirits ; and  how  brightly  does  Miss  Beaufort  rise 
from  the  blaze  ! Surrounded  by  splendor,  homage  and  indul- 
gence, she  is  yet  all  nature,  gentleness  and  virtue  ! " 

The  latter  part  of  this  burst  of  heart  he  uttered  rapidly,  the 
nerves  of  that  heart  beating  full  at  every  word. 

The  countess,  who  wished  to  appear  cheerful,  rallied  him 
on  the  warmth  of  his  expressions ; and  observing  that  ‘‘  the  day 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


343 

was  fine,  invited  him  to  walk  out  with  her  througn  the  roman- 
tic, though  long-neglected,  domains  of  the  Abbey. 

Meanwhile,  the  family  at  Somerset  were  just  drawn  round 
the  breakfast-board,  when  they  were  agreeably  surprised  by  the 
sudden  entrance  of  Pembroke.  During  the  repast  Miss  Beau- 
fort repeated  the  contents  of  the  note  she  had  received  the  pre- 
ceding day  from  Lady  Tinemouth,  and  requested  that  her 
cousin  would  be  kind  enough  to  drive  her  in  his  curricle  that 
morning  to  Harrowby. 

I will,  with  pleasure,'*’  answered  he.  “ I have  seen  her 
ladyship,  and  even  supped  with  her  last  night.” 

‘‘  How  came  that  ? ” asked  Miss  Dorothy. 

‘‘  I shall  explain  it  to  my  father,  whenever  he  will  honor  me 
with  an  audience,”  returned  her  happy  nephew,  addressing  the 
baronet  with  all  the  joy  of  his  heart  looking  out  at  his  eyes. 
“ Will  you  indulge  me,  dear  sir,  by  half  an  hour’s  attention  ” 

‘‘  Certainly,”  replied  Sir  Robert ; at  present  I am  going 
into  my  study  to  settle  my  steward’s  books,  but  the  moment  I 
have  finished,  I will  send  for  you.” 

Miss  Dorothy  walked  out  after  her  brother,  to  attend  her 
aviary,  and  Miss  Beaufort,  remaining  alone  with  her  cousin, 
made  some  inquiries  about  the  countess’s  reasons  for  coming 
to  the  Abbey.  ‘‘  I know  nothing  about  them,”  replied  he,  gayly, 
for  she  went  to  bed  almost  the  instant  I entered  the  house. 
Too  good  to  remain  where  her  company  was  not  wanted,  she 
left  me  to  enjoy  a most  delightful  tete-a-tete  with  a dear  friend, 
from  whom  I parted  nearly  four  years  ago.  In  short,  we  sat 
up  the  whole  night  together,  talking  over  past  scenes — and 
present  ones  too,  for,  I assure  you,  you  were  not  forgotten.” 

I ! what  had  I to  do  with  it  ? ” replied  Mary,  smiling.  “ I 
cannot  recollect  any  dear  friend  of  yours  whom  you  have  not 
seen  these  four  years.” 

“ Well,  that  is  strange  ! ” answered  Pembroke  ; ‘‘  he  remem- 
bers you  perfectly  ; but,  true  to  your  sex,  you  affirm  what  you 
please,  though  I know  there  is  not  a man  in  the  world  I prefer 
before  him.” 

Miss  Beaufort  shook  her  head,  laughed,  and  sighed  ; and 
withdrawing  her  hand  from  his,  threatened  to  leave  him  if  he 
would  not  be  serious. 

“ I am  serious,”  cried  he.  “ Would  you  have  me  swear  thsit 
1 have  seen  him  whom  you  most  wish  to  see  ? ” 

She  regarded  the  expression  of  his  countenance  with  a mo- 
mentary emotion;  taking  her  seat  again,  she  said,  You  can 
have  seen  no  one  that  is  of  consequence  to  me ; whoever  your 


344 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


friend  may  be,  I have  only  to  congratulate  you  on  a meeting 
which  affords  you  so  much  delight.” 

Pembroke  burst  into  a joyous  laugh  at  her  composure. 

“ So  cold  ! ” cried  he — ‘‘  so  cautious  ! Yet  I verily  believe 
you  would  participate  in  my  delights  were  I to  tell  you  who  he 
is.  However,  you  are  such  a skeptic,  that  I wont  hint  even  one 
of  the  many  fine  things  he  said  of  you.” 

She  smiled  incredulously. 

I could  beat  you,  Mary,”  exclaimed  he,  for  this  oblique 
way  of  saying  I am  telling  lies  ! But  I will  have  my  revenge 
on  your  curiosity  ; for  on  my  honor  I declare,”  added  he,  em 
phatically,  ‘‘  that  last  night  I met  with  a friend  at  Lady  Tine 
mouth’s  who  four  years  ago  saved  my  life,  who  entertained  me 
several  weeks  in  his  house,  and  who  has  seen  and  adores  you  ! 
’Tis  true ; true,  on  my  existence  ! And  what  is  more,  I have 
promised  that  you  will  repay  these  weighty  obligations  by  the 
free  gift  of  this  dear  hand.  What  do  you  say  to  this,  my  sweet 
Mary  1 ” 

Miss  Beaufort  looked  anxious  at  the  serious  and  energetic 
manner  in  which  he  made  those  assertions  ; even  the  sportive 
kiss  that  ended  the  question  did  not  dispel  the  gravity  with 
which  she  prepared  to  reply. 

Pembroke  perceiving  her  intent,  prevented  her  by  exclaim- 
ing, Cease,  Mary,  cease  ! 1 see  you  are  going  to  make  a false 

statement.  Let  truth  prevail,  and  \ou  will  not  deny  that  I am 
suing  for  a plighted  faith?  You  will  not  deny  who  it  was  that 
softened  and  subdued  your  heart  ? You  cannot  conceal  from 
me  that  the  wanderer  Constantine  possesses  your  affections  ? ” 

Amazed  at  so  extraordinary  a charge  from  her  hitherto 
always  respectful  as  well  as  fraternally  affectionate  cousin,  she 
reddened  with  pain  and  displeasure.  Rising  from  her  seat,  and 
averting  her  tearful  eyes,  she  said,  I did  not  expect  this  cruel, 
this  ungenerous  speech  from  you,  Pembroke  ! What  have  I 
done  to  deserve  so  rude,  so  unfeeling  a reproach  ? ” 

Pembroke  threw  his  arm  round  her.  “ Come,”  said  he,  in 
a sportive  voice  ; don’t  be  tragical.  I never  meant  to  re^ 
proach  you,  Mary.  I dare  say  if  you  gave  your  heart,  it  was 
only  in  return  for  his.  I know  you  are  a grateful  girl ; and  I 
verily  believe  you  won’t  find  much  difference  between  my  friend 
the  young  Count  Sobieski  and  the  forlorn  Constantine.” 

A suspicion  of  the  truth  flashed  across  Miss  Beaufort’s 
mind.  Unable  to  speak,  she  caught  hold  of  her  cousin’s  hands, 
and  looking  eagerly  in  his  face,  her  eyes  declared  the  question 
she  would  have  asked. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


345 


Pembroke  laughed  triumphantly.  A servant  entering  to 
tell  him  that  Sir  Robert  was  ready,  he  strained  her  to  his  breast 
and  exclaimed,  “ Now  I am  revenged  ! Farewell ! I leave  you 
to  all  the  pangs  of  doubt  and  curiosity  ! ” He  then  flew  out  of 
the  room  with  an  arch  glance  at  her  agitated  countenance,  and 
hurried  up  stairs. 

She  clasped  her  trembling  hands  together  as  the  door  closed 
on  him.  “ O,  gracious  Providence  ! ” cried  she,  “ what  am  I 
to  understand  by  this  mystery,  this  joy  of  my  cousin’s?  Can 
it  be  possible  that  the  illustrious  Sobieski  and  my  contemned 
Constantine  are  the  same  person  ? ” A burning  blush  overspread 
her  face  at  the  expression  ?ny  which  had  escaped  her  lips. 

Whilst  the  graces,  the  sweetness,  the  dignity  of  Thaddeus 
had  captivated  her  notice,  his  sufferings,  his  virtues,  and  the 
mysterious  interests  which  involved  his  histoi*}^,  in  like  manner 
had  fixed  her  attention  had  awakened  her  esteem.  From  these 
grounds  the  step  is  short  to  love.  ‘‘  When  the  mind  is  con- 
quered, the  heart  surrenders  at  discretion.”  But  she  knew  not 
that  she  had  advanced  too  far  to  retreat,  until  the  last  scene  at 
Dundas  House,  by  forcing  her  lo  defend  Constantine  against 
the  charge  of  loving  her,  made  her  confess  to  herself  how  much 
she  wished  the  charge  were  true. 

Poor  and  lowly  as  he  seemed,  she  found  that  her  whole 
heart  and  life  were  wrapped  in  his  remembrance ; that  his  wor- 
shipped idea  was  her  solace  ; her  most  precious  property  the 
dear  treasure  of  her  secret  and  sweetest  felicity,  It  was  the 
companion  of  her  walks,  the  monitor  of  her  actions.  When- 
ever she  planned,  whenever  she  executed,  she  asked  herself, 
how  would  Constantine  consider  this  ? and  accordingly  did  she 
approve  or  condemn  her  conduct,  for  she  had  heard  enough 
from  Mrs.  Robson  to  convince  her  that  piety  was  the  sure  foun- 
tain of  his  virtues. 

When  she  had  left  London,  and  so  far  separated  from  this 
idol  of  her  memory,  such  was  the  impression  he  had  stamped 
on  her  heart ; he  seemed  ever  present.  The  shade  of  Laura 
visited  the  solitude  of  Vaucluse  ; the  image  of  Constantine 
haunted  the  walks  of  Somerset.  The  loveliness  of  nature,  its 
leafy  groves  and  verdant  meadows,  its  blooming  mornings  and 
luxuriant  sunsets,  the  romantic  shadows  of  twilight  or  the  soft 
glories  of  the  moon  and  stars,  as  they  pressed  beauty  and  sen- 
timent upon  her  heart,  awoke  it  to  the  remembrance  of  Con- 
stantine ; she  saw  his  image,  she  felt  his  soul,  in  every  object. 
Subtile  and  undefinable  is  that  ethereal  chord  which  unites  our 
'tenderest  thought,  with  their  chain  of  association ! 


346 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


Before  this  conversation,  in  which  Pembroke  mentioned  the 
name  of  Constantine  with  so  much  badinage  and  apparent  famil- 
iarity, he  never  heard  him  spoken  of  by  Mary  or  his  aunt  with- 
out declaring  a displeasure  nearly  amounting  to  anger.  Hence, 
when  she  considered  his  now  so  strangely  altered  tone.  Miss 
Beaufort  necessarily  concluded  that  he  had  seen,  in  the  person 
of  him  she  most  valued,  the  man  whose  public  character  she  had 
often  heard  him  admire,  and  who,  she  now  doubted  not,  had  at 
some  former  period  given  him  some  private  reason  for  calling 
him  his  friend.  Before  this  time,  she  more  than  once  had  sus- 
pected, from  the  opinions  which, Somerset  occasionally  repeated 
respecting  the  affairs  of  Poland,  that  he  could  only  have  ac- 
quired so  accurate  a knowledge  of  its  events  by  having  visited 
the  country  itself.  She  mentioned  her  suspicion  to  Mr.  Loftus  : 
he  denied  the  fact ; and  she  had  thought  no  more  on  the  subject 
until  the  present  ambiguous  hints  of  her  cousin  conjured  up 
these  doubts  anew,  and  led  her  to  suppose  that  if  Pembroke 
had  not  disobeyed  his  father  so  far  as  to  go  to  Warsaw,  he  must 
have  met  with  the  Count  Sobieski  in  some  other  realm.  The 
possibility  that  this  young  hero,  of  whom  fame  spoke  so'  loudly, 
might  be  the  mysterious  Constantine,  bewildered  and  delighted 
her.  The  more  she  compared  what  she  had  heard  of  the  one 
with  what  she  had  witnessed  in  the  other,  the  more  was  she 
reconciled  to  the  probability  of  her  ardent  hope.  Besides,  she 
could  not  for  a moment  retain  a belief  that  her  cousin  would  so 
cruelly  sport  with  her  delicacy  and  peace  as  to  excite  expecta- 
tions that  he  could  not  fulfil. 

Agitated  by  a suspense  which  bordered  on  agony,  with  a 
beating  heart  she  heard  his  quick  step  descending  the  stairts. 
The  door  opened,  and  Pembroke,  flying  into  the  room,  caught 
up  his  hat.  As  he  was  darting  away  again,  unable  to  restrain 
her  impatience.  Miss  Beaufort  with  an  imploring  voice  ejaculated 
his  name.  He  turned,  and  displayed  to  her  amazed  sight  a 
countenance  in  which  no  vestige  of  his  former  animation  could 
be  traced.  His  cheek  was  flushed,  and  his  eyes  shot  a wild  fire 
that  struck  to  her  heart.  Unconscious  what  she  did,  she  ran  up 
to  him  ; but  Pembroke,  pushing  her  back,  exclaimed,  ‘‘  Donff 
ask  me  any  questions,  if  you  would  not  drive  me  to  madness.^^ 

“ O Heaven  ! cried  she,  catching  his  arm,  and  clinging  to 
him,  while  the  eagerness  of  his  motion  dragged  her  into  the 
hall.  Tell  me  ! Has  anything  happened  to  my  guardian — 
to  your  friend — to  Constantine  ? ’’ 

“ No,’’  replied  he,  looking  at  her  with  a face  full  of  despera- 
tion ; but  my  father  comrnands  me  to  treat  him  like  a villain.’^ 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


347 


She  could  hardly  credit  her  senses  at  this  confirmation  that 
1 Constantine  and  Sobieski  were  one.  Turning  giddy  with  the 
I imultuous  delight  that  rushed  over  her  soul,  she  staggered  back 
I few  paces,  and  leaning  against  the  open  door,  tried  to  recover 
I reath  to  regain  the  room  she  had  left. 

Pembroke,  having  escaped  from  her  grasp,  ran  furiously 
own  the  hill,  mounted  his  horse,  and  forbidding  any  groom  to 
ttend  him,  galloped  towards  the  high  road  with  the  impetuos- 
y of  a madman.  All  the  powers  of  his  soul  were  in  arms, 
bounded,  dishonored,  stigmatized  with  ingratitude  and  base- 
css,  he  believed  himself  to  be  the  most  degraded  of  men. 

It  appeared  that  Sir  Robert  Somerset  had  long  cherished  a 
atred  to  the  Poles,  in  consequence  of  some  injury  he  affirmed 
e had  received  in  early  youth  from  one  of  that  nation.  In  this 
istance  his  dislike  was  implacable ; and  when  his  son  set  out 
Dr  the  continent,  he  positively  forlDade  him  to  enter  Poland. 
Notwithstanding  his  remembrance  of  this  violated  injunction, 
|>hen  Pembroke  joined  the  baronet  in  his  library,  he  did  it  with 
onfidence.  With  a bounding  heart  and  animated  countenance, 

I e recapitulated  how  he  had  been  wrought  upon  by  his  young 
lussian  friends  to  take  up  arms  in  their  cause  and  march  into 
*oland.  At  these  last  words  his  father  turned  pale,  and  though 
e did  not  speak,  the  denunciation  was  on  his  brow. 

Pembroke,  who  expected  some  marks  of  displeasure,  has- 
lened  to  obliterate  his  disobedience  by  narrating  the  event  which 
[ ad  introduced  not  only  the  young  Count  Sobieski  to  his  succor, 
ut  the  consequent  friendship  of  the  whole  of  that  princely 
family. 

Sir  Robert  still  made  no  verbal  reply,  but  his  countenance 
[ eepened  in  gloom  ; and  when  Pembroke,  with  all  the  pathos 
Ilf  a deep  regret,  attempted  to  describe  the  death  of  the  pala- 
ine,  the  horrors  which  attended  the  last  hours  of  the  countess, 
Imd  the  succeeding  misery  of  Thaddeus,  who  was  now  in  Eng- 
ind,  no  language  can  paint  the  frenzy  which  burst  at  once  from 
jhe  baronet.  He  stamped  on  the  ground,  he  covered  his  face 
p/ith  his  clenched  hands  ; then  turning  on  his  son  with  a coun- 
i snance  no  longer  recognizable,  he  exclaimed  with  fury,  ‘‘  Pem- 
[roke  ! you  have  outraged  my  commands  ! Never  will  I pardon 
ou  if  that  young  man  ever  blast  me  with  his  sight. 

‘‘  Merciful  Heaven  ! ” cried  Pembroke,  thunderstruck  at  a 
iolence  which  he  almost  wished  might  proceed  from  real  mad- 
ess : surely  something  has  agitated  my  father  ! What  can 
his  mean  } 

• Six  Robert  shook  his  head,  whilst  his  teeth  ground  against 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


34^ 

each  other.  “ Don’t  mistake  me,”  replied  he,  in  a firm  voice 
“ I am  perfectly  in  my  senses.  It  depends  on  yoti  that  I con- 
tinue so.  You  know  my  oath  against  all  of  that  nation  ! and,, 
I repeat  again,  if  you  ever  bring  that  young  man  into  my  pres 
ence,  you  shall  never  see  me  more.” 

A cold  dew  overspread  the  body  of  Pembroke.  He  would 
have  caught  his  father’s  hand,  but  he  held  it  back.  ‘‘  O sir,’^ 
said  he,  ‘^you  surely  cannot  intend  that  I shall  treat  with  in- 
gratitude the  man  who  saved  my  life  ? ” i 

Sir  Robert  did  not  vouchsafe  him  an  answer,  but  continued 
walking  up  and  down  the  room,  until,  his  hesitation  increasing  al| 
every  step,  he  opened  the  door  of  an  interior  apartment  and  re^ 
tired,  bidding  his  son  remain  where  he  left  him. 

The  horror-struck  Pembroke  waited  a quarter  of  an  hour  bei 
fore  his  father  re-entered.  When  he  did  appear,  the  deep  gloom 
of  his  eye  gave  no  encouragement  to  his  son,  who,  hanging 
down  his  head,  recoiled  from  speaking  first.  Sir  Robert  ap 
proached  with  a composed  but  severe  countenance,  and  said 
have  been  seeking  every  palliation  that  your  conduct  might 
admit,  but  I can  find  none.  Before  you  quitted  England,  yoi 
knew  well  my  abhorrence  of  Poland.  One  of  that  country  man) 
years  ago  wounded  my  happiness  in  a way  I shall  never  recover] 
From  that  hour  I took  an  oath  never  to  enter  its  borders,' anc 
never  to  suffer  one  of  its  people  to  come  within  my  doorsj 
Rash,  disobedient  boy!  You  know  my  disposition,  and  you 
have  seen  the  emotion  with  which  this  dilemma  has  shaken  mv 
soul ! But  be  it  on  your  own  head  that  you  have  incurred  ob 
ligations  which  I cannot  repay.  I will  not  perjure  myself  to 
defray  a debt  contracted  against  my  positive  and  declared  prin 
ciples.  I never  will  see  this  Polander  you  speak  of  ; and  it  i: 
my  express  command,  on  pain  of  my  eternal  malediction,  tha 
you  break  with  him  entirely.” 

Pembroke  fell  into  a seat.  Sir  Robert  proceeded. 

“ I pity  your  distress,  but  my  resolution  cannot  be  shaken, 
Oaths  are  not  to  be  broken  with  impunity.  You  must  either  re 
sign  him  or  resign  me.  We  may  compromise  your  debt  of  grat 
itude.  I will  give  you  deeds  to  put  your  friend  in  possessioi: 
of  five  hundred  pounds  a-year  for  life  forever  ; nay,  I would  ever 
double  it  to  give  you  satisfaction  ; but  from  the  hour  in  whicll 
you  tell  him  so,  you  must  see  him  no  more.”  : 

Sir  Robert  was  quitting  the  room,  when  Pembroke,  starting 
from  his  chair,  threw  himself  in  agony  on  his  knees,  and  catch 
ing  by  the  skirt  of  his  father’s  coat,  implored  him  for  God’s  sak* 
to  recall  his  words ; to  remember  that  he  was  affixing  everlast 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


349 


ng  dishonor  on  his  son  ! “ Remember,  dear  sir ! cried  he, 

lolding  his  struggling  hand,  that  the  man  to  whom  you  orfer 
noney  as  a compensation  for  insult  is  of  a nature  too  noble  to 
eceive  it.  He  will  reject  it,  and  spurn  me  ; and  I shall  know 
hat  I deserve  his  scorn.  For  mercy’s  sake,  spare  me  the  ag- 
)ny  of  harrowing  up  the  heart  of  my  preserver— of  meeting  re- 

)roach  fiom  his  eyes  ! ” • i r 

“ Leave  me  ! ’’  cried  the  baronet,  breaking  from  him  ; * 1 
•epeat,  unless  you  wish  to  incur  my  curse,  do  as  I have  com- 
^nanded/’ 

Thus  outraged,  thus  agonised,  Pembroke  had  appeared  be- 
;ore  the  eyes  of  his  cousin  Mary  more  like  a distracted  creature 
;han  a man  possessed  of  his  senses.  Shortly  after  his  abrupt 
ieparture,  her  apprehension  was  petrified  to  a dreadful  certainty 
bf  some  cruel  ruin  to  her  hopes,  by  an  order  she  received  in  the 
landwriting  of  her  uncle,  commanding  her  not  to  attempt  visit- 
^mg  Lady  Tinemouth  whilst  the  Count  Sobieski  continued  to  be 
her  guest,  and  under  peril  of  his  displeasure  never  to  allow  that 
aame  to  pass  her  lips. 

Hardly  knowing  whither  he  went,  Pembroke  did  not  arrive 
at  the  ruined  aisle  which  leads  to  the  habitable  part  of  the 
Abbey  until  near  three  o’clock.  He  inquired  of  the  groom 
that  took  his  horse  w'hether  the  countess  and  i\Ir.  Constantine 
were  at  home.  The  man  replied  in  the  affiimative,  but  added, 
with  a sad  countenance,  he  feared  neither  of  them  could  be 
seen. 

“ For  what  reason  ” demanded  Somerset. 

Alas  ! sir,”  replied  the  servant,  ‘‘  about  an  hour  ac:o  my 
lady  was  seized  with  a violent  fit  of  coughing,  which  ended  in 
the  rupture  of  a blood-vessel.  It  continued  to  fiow  so  long, 
that  Mr,  Constantine  told  the  apothecary,  whom  he  had  sum- 
moned, to  send  for  a physician.  The  doctor  is  not  yet  arrived, 
and  Mr.  Constantine  won’t  leave  my  lady.” 

Though  Mr.  Somerset  was  truly  concerned  at  the  illness  of 
the  countess,  the  respite  it  afforded  him  from  immediately  de- 
claring the  ungrateful  message  of  Sir  Robert  gave  him  no  in- 
considerable degree  of  ease.  Somewhat  relieved  by  the  hope 
wf  being  for  one  day  spared  the  anguish  of  displaying  his  father 
in  a disgraceful  light,  he  entered  the  Abbey,  and  desired  that 
a maid-servant  might  be  sent  to  her  ladyship’s  room  to  inform, 
his  friend  that  Mr.  Somerset  was  below. 

In  a few  minutes  the  girl  returned  with  the  following  lines 
on  a slip  of  paper  : 


3SO 


THADDEUS  OF  IVARSA  W. 


“To  Pembroke  Somerset,  Esq. 

“ I am  grieved  that  I cannot  see  my  dear  Somerset  to-day ! 
I fear  my  revered  friend  is  on  her  death-bed.  I have  sent  for 
Dr.  Cavendish,  who  is  now  at  Stanford  ; doubtless  you  know 
he  is  a man  of  the  first  abilities.  If  human  skill  can  preserve  I 
her,  I may  yet* have  hopes  ; but  her  disorder  is  on  the  lungs 
and  in  the  heart,  and  I fear  the  stroke  is  sure.  I am  now  sitting 
by  her  bedside,  and  writing  what  she  dictates  to  her  husband, 
her  son,  and  her  daughter.  Painful,  you  may  believe,  is  the 
task ! I cannot,  my  dear  Somerset,  add  more  than  my  hope 
of  seeing  you  soon,  and  that  you  will  join  in  prayers  to  Heaven 
for  the  restoration  of  my  inestimable  friend,  with  your  faithful 
and  affectionate 

“ SOBIESKI.^^ 

“ Alas  ! unhappy,  persecuted  Sobieski ! ” thought  Pembroke,  i 
as  he  closed  the  paper;  “to  what  art  thou  doomed!  Somej 
friends  are  torn  from  thee  by  death  , others  desert  thee  in  the 
hour  of  trouble.” 

He  took  out  his  pencil  to  answer  this  distressing  epistle, 
but  he  stopped  at  the  first  word ; he  durst  not  write  that  his 
father  would  fulfil  any  one  of  those  engagements  which  he  had 
so  largely  promised  ; and  throwing  away  the  pencil  and  the 
paper,  he  left  a verbal  declaration  of  his  sorrow  at  what  had 
happened,  and  an  assurance  of  calling  next  day.  Turning  his 
back  on  a house  which  he  had  left  on  the  preceding  night  wuth 
so  many  joyful  hopes,  he  remounted  his  horse,  and,  melancholy 
and  slow,  rode  about  the  country  until  evening, — so  unwilling i 
was  he  to  return  to  that  home  which  now  threatened  him  with 
the  frowns  of  his  father,  the  tears  of  Mary  Beaufort,  and  the 
miserable  reflections  of  his  own  wretched  heart. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE  MATERNAL  HEART. 

Doctor  Cavendish  having  been  detained  beyond  his  ex-i 
pected  time  with  his  invalid  friend  at  Stanford,  was  happily 
still  there,  and  set  off  for  Harrowby  the  instant  Mr.  Constan- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  AW, 


351 

tineas  messenger  arrived,  and  before  midnight  alighted  at  the 
Abbey. 

When  he  entered  Lady  Tinemouth’s  chamber  he  found  her 
supported  in  the  arms  of  Thaddeus,  and  struggling  with  a sec- 
ond rupture  of  her  lungs.  As  he  approached  the  bed,  Thad- 
deus turned  his  eyes  on  him  with  an  expression  that  powerfully 
told  his  fears.  Dr.  Cavendish  silently  pressed  his  hand  ; then 
taking  from  his  pocket  some  styptic  drops,  he  made  the  coun- 
tess swallow  them,  and  soon  saw  that  they  succeeded  in  stop- 
ping the  hemorrhage. 

Thaddeus  and  her  physician  remained  by  the  side  of  the* 
patient  sufferer  until  ten  in  the  morning,  when  she  sunk  into  a 
gentle  sleep.  Complete  stillness  being  necessary  to  continue 
this  repose,  the  good  doctor  proposed  leaving  the  maid  to 
watch  by  her  ladyship,  and  drawing  the  count  out  of  the  room, 
descended  the  stairs. 

Mr.  Somerset  had  been  arrived  half  an  hour,  and  met  them 
in  the  breakfast  parlor.  After  a few  kind  words  exchanged 
between  the  parties,  they  sat  down  with  dejected  countenances 
to  their  melancholy  meal.  Thaddeus  was  too  much  absorbed 
in  the  scene  he  had  left  to  take  anything  but  a dish  of  coffee. 

Do  you  think  Lady  Tinemouth  is  in  imminent  danger? 
inquired  Pembroke  of  the  doctor. 

Dr.  Cavendish  sighed,  and  turning  to  Thaddeus,  directed 
to  him  the  answer  which  his  friend’s  question  demanded.  ‘‘  I 
am  afraid,  my  dear  Mr.  Constantine,”  said  he,  in  a reluctant 
voice,  “that  you  are  to  sustain  a new  trial  ! I fear  she  cannot 
live  eight-and-forty  hours.” 

Thaddeus  cast  down  his  eyes  and  shuddered,  but  made  no 
reply.  Further  remarks  were  prevented  by  a messenger  from 
the  countess,  who  desired  Mr.  Constantine’s  immediate  attend- 
ance at  her  bedside.  He  obeyed.  In  half  an  hour  he  returned, 
with  the  mark  of  tears  upon  his  cheek. 

“ Dearest  Thaddeus  ! ” cried  Pembroke,  “ I trust  the  coun- 
tess is  not  worse  ? This  threatened  new  bereavement  is  too 
much  : it  afflicts  my  veryj^heart.”  Indeed  it  rent  it  ; for  Pem- 
broke could  not  help  internally  acknowledging  that  when  Sob i- 
eski  should  close  the  eyes  of  Lady  Tinemouth,  he  would  be 
paying  the  last  sad  office  to  his  last  friend.  That  dear  distinc- 
tion he  durst  no  longer  arrogate  to  himself.  Denied  the  fulfil- 
ment of  its  duties,  he  thought  that  to  retain  the  title  would  be 
an  assumption  without  a right. 

Thaddeus  drew  his  hand  over  his  again  filling  eyes.  “ The 
countess  herself,”  said  he,  “ feels  the  truth  of  what  Dr.  Caven- 


352 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


dish  told  us.  She  sent  for  me,  and  begged  me,  as  I loved  her, 
or  would  wish  to  see  her  die  in  peace,  to  devise  some  means 
for  bringing  her  daughter  to  the  Abbey  to-night.  As  for  Lord 
Harwold,  she  says  his  behavior  since  he  arrived  at  manhood 
has  been  of  a nature  so  cruel  and  unnatural,  that  she  would 
not  draw  on  herself  the  misery,  nor  on  him  the  added  guilt,  of 
a refusal ; but  with  regard  to  Lady  Albina,  who  has  been  no 
sharer  in  those  barbarities,  she  trusts  a daughter’s  heart  might 
be  prevailed  on  to  seek  a last  embrace  from  a dying  parent. 
It  is  this  request,”  continued  he,  ^ that  agitates  me.  When  she 
pictured  to  me,  with  all  the  fervor  of  a mother,  her  doating 
fondness  for  this  daughter,  (on  whom,  whenever  she  did  ven- 
ture to  hope,  all  those  hopes  rested ;)  when  she  wrung  my 
hand,  and  besought  me,  as  if  I had  been  the  sole  disposer  of 
her  fate,  to  let  her  see  her  child  before  she  died,  I could  only 
promise  every  exertion  to  effect  it,  and  with  an  aching  heart  I 
came  to  consult  you.” 

Dr.  Cavendish  was  opening  his  lips  to  speak,  but  Somerset, 
in  his  eagerness  to  relieve  his  friend,  did  not  perceive  it,  and 
immediately  answered,  “This  very  hour  I will  undertake  what 
you  have  promised.  I know  Lord  Tinemouth’s  family  are  now 
at  the  Wolds.  It  is  only  thirty  miles  distant ; I will  send  a 
servant  to  have  relays  of  horses  ready.  My  curricle,  which  is 
now  at  the  door,  will  be  more  convenient  than  a chaise  ; and  I 
will  engage  to  be  back  before  to-morrow  morning.  Write  a 
letter,  Thaddeus,”  added  he,  “to  Lady  Albina ; tell  her  of  her 
mother’s  situation ; and  though  I have  never  seen  the  young 
lady,  I will  give  it  into  her  own  hand,  and  then  bring  her  off, 
even  were  it  in  the  face  of  her  villanous  father.” 

The  pale  cheeks  of  Sobieski  flushed  with  a conscious  scar- 
let. Turning  to  Dr.  Cavendish,  he  requested  him,  as  the  most 
proper  person,  to  write  to  Lady  Albina,  whilst  he  would  walk 
out  with  his  friend  to  order  the  carriage.  Pembroke  was 
thanked  for  his  zeal,  but  it  was  not  bywords;  they  are  too 
weak  vehicles  to  convey  strong  impressions.  Thaddeus  pressed 
his  hand,  and  accompanied  the  action  with  a look  which 
spoke  volumes.  The  withered  heart  of  Pembroke  expanded 
under  the  animated  gratitude  of  his  friend.  Receiving  the  let- 
ter, he  sprang  into  his  seat,  and,  until  he  lost  sight  of  Har- 
rowby  Hill,  forgot  how  soon  he  must  appear  to  that  friend  the 
most  ungrateful  of  men. 

It  was  near  six  in  the  evening  before  Mr.  Somerset  left  his 
curricle  at  the  little  inn  which  skirts  the  village  of  Harthorpe. 
He  affected  to  make  some  inquiries  respecting  the  families  in 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


353 


the  neighborhood  ; and  his  host  informed  him  that  the  ladies  of 
the  earl’s  family  were  great  walkers,  passing  almost  the  whole 
of  the  day  in  the  grounds.  The  measures  to  be  adopted  were 
now  obvious.  The  paling  belonging  to  Lord  1 inemouth  s park 
was  only  a few  yards  distant ; but  fearful  of  being  observed, 
Pembroke  sought  a more  obscure  part.  Scaling  a wall  which 
was  covered  by  the  branches  of  high  trees,  he  found  his  way  to 
the  house  through  an  almost  impassable  thicket. 

He  watched  nearly  an  hour  in  vain  for  the  appearance  of 
Lady  Albina,  whose  youth  and  elegance,  he  thought,  would 
unequivocally  distinguish  her  from  the  rest  of  the  earl’s  house- 
hold. Despairing  of  success,  he  was  preparing  to  change  his 
station,  when  he  heard  a sound  among  the  dry  leaves,  and  the 
next  moment  a beautiful  young  creature  passed  the  bush  behind 
which  he  was  concealed.  The  fine  symmetry  of  her  profile 
assured  him  that  she  must  be  the  daughter  of  Lady  Tinemouth. 
She  stooped  to  gather  a china-aster.  Knowing  that  no  time 
should  be  lost,  Pembroke  gently  emerged  from  his  recess,  but 
not  in  so  quiet  a manner  as  to  escape  the  ear  of  Lady  Albina, 
who  instantly  looking  round,  screamed,  and  would  have  fled, 
had  he  not  thrown  himself  before  her,  and  exclaimed,  ‘‘  Stay, 
Lady  Albina ! For  heaven’s  sake,  stay  ! I come  from  your 
mother ! ” 

She  gazed  fearfully  in  his  face,  and  tried  to  release  her  hand, 
which  he  had  seized  to  prevent  her  flight. 

“ Do  not  be  alarmed,”  continued  he  ; no  harm  is  intended 
you.  I am  the  son  of  Sir  Robert  Somerset,  and  the  friend  of 
your  mother,  who  is  now  at  the  point  of  death.  She  implores 
to  see  you  this  night  (for  she  has  hardly  an  hour  to  live)  to  hear 
from  your  own  lips  that  you  do  not  hate  her.” 

Lady  Albina  trembled  dreadfully,  and  with  faded  cheeks 
and  quivering  lips  replied,  ‘‘  Hate  my  mother ! Oh,  no  ! I have 
ever  dearly  loved  her  ! ” 

A flood  of  tears  prevented  her  speaking  further ; and  Pem- 
broke, perceiving  that  he  had  gained  her  confidence,  put  the 
doctor’s  letter  into  her  hand.  The  gentle  heart  of  Lady  Albina 
bled  at  every  word  which  her  almost  blinded  eyes  perused. 
Turning  to  Pembroke,  who  stood  contemplating  her  lovely 
countenance  with  the  deepest  interest,  she  said,  “ Pray,  Mr. 
Somerset,  take  me  now  to  my  mother.  Were  she  to  die  before 
I arrive,  I should  be  miserable  for  life.  Alas  ! alas  ! I have 
never  been  allowed  to  behold  her  ! — never  been  allowed  to  visit 
London,  because  my  father  knew  that  I believed  my  poor 
mother  innocent,  and  would  have  seen  her,  had  it  been  possible.” 


354 


THAnDECrS  OP  WARSA  W. 


Lady,  Albina  wept  violently  while  she  spoke,  and  giving  her 
hand  to  Pembroke,  timidly  looked  towards  the  house,  and 
added,  ‘‘You  must  take  me  this  instant.  We  must  hasten 
away,  in  case  we  should  be  surprised.  If  Lady  Olivia  were  to 
know  that  I have  been  speaking  with  anybody  out  of  the  family, 
I should  be  locked  up  for  months.’’ 

Pembroke  did  not  require  a second  cammand  from  his 
beautiful  charge.  Conducting  her  through  the  unfrequented 
paths  by  which  he  had  entered,  he  seated  her  in  his  curricle, 
and  whipping  his  horses,  set  off,  full  speed,  towards  the  melan- 
choly goal  of  his  enterprise. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

HARROWBY  ABBEY. 

Whilst  the  two  anxious  travellers  were  pursuing  their  sad 
journey,  the  inhabitants  of  the  Abbey  were  distracted  with 
apprehension  lest  the  countess  might  expire  before  their  arrival. 
Ever  since  Lady  Tinemouth  received  information  that  Mr. 
Somerset  was  gone  to  the  Wolds,  hope  and  fear  agitated  her  by 
turns,  till,  wearied  out  with  solicitude  and  expectation,  she 
turned  her  dim  eyes  upon  Thaddeus,  and  said,  in  a languid 
voice,  “ My  dear  friend,  it  must  be  near  midnight.  I shall 
never  see  the  morning ; I shall  never  in  this  world  see  my  child. 
I pray  you,  thapk  Mr.  Somerset  for  all  the  trouble  I have 
occasioned ; and  my  daughter  — my  Albina ! O father  of 
mercies  ! ” cried  she,  holding  up  her  clasped  hands,  “pour  all 
thy  blessings  upon  her  head  1 She  never  wilfully  gave  this 
broken  heart  a pang  ! ” 

The  countess  had  hardly  ended  speaking  when  Thaddeus 
heard  a bustle  on  the  stairs.  Suspecting  that  it  might  be  the 
arrival  of  his  friend,  he  made  a sign  to  Dr.  Cavendish  to  go  and 
inquire.  His  heart  beat  violently  whilst  he  kept  his  eye  fixed 
on  the  door,  and  held  the  feeble  pulse  of  Lady  Tinemouth  in 
his  hand.  The  doctor  re-entered,  and  in  a low  voice  whispered, 
“ Lady  Albina  is  here.” 

The  words  acted  like  magic  on  the  fading  senses  of  the 
countess.  With  preternatural  strength  she  started  from  her 
pillow,  and  catching  hold  of  Sobieski’s  arm  with  both  hers, 
cried,  “ O give  her  to  me  whilst  I have  life.” 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


355 


Lady  Albina  appeared,  led  in  by  Pembroke,  but  .instantly 
quitting  his  hand,  with  an  agonizing  shriek  she  rushed  towards 
the  bed,  and  flung  herself  into  the  extended  arms  of  her  mother. 
Those  arms  closed  on  her,  and  the  head  of  the  countess  rested 
oh  her  bosom. 

Dr.  Cavendish  perceived  by  the  struggles  of  the  young  lady 
that  she  was  in  convulsions  ; and  taking  her  off  the  bed,  he  com 
signed  her  to  Pembroke  and  his  friend,  wdio,  between  them, 
carried  her  into  another  apartment.  He  remained  to  assist  the 
countess. 

Albina  was  removed ; but  the  eyes  of  her  amiable  and 
injured  mother  were  never  again  unclosed  : she  had  breathed 
her  last  sigh,  in  grateful  ecstasy,  on  the  bosom  of  her  daughter  j 
and  Heaven  had  taken  her  spotless  soul  to  Himself. 

Being  convinced  that  the  countess  was  indeed  no  more,  the 
good  doctor  left  her  remains  in  charge  of  the  women ; and  re- 
pairing to  the  adjoining  room,  found  Lady  Albina  yet  senseless 
in  the  arms  of  his  two  friends.  She  was  laid  on  a sofa,  and 
Cavendish  was  pouring  some  drops  into  her  mouth,  when  he 
descried  Thaddeus  gliding  out  of  the  room.  Desirous  to  spare 
him  the  shock  of  suddenly  seeing  the  corpse  of  one  whom  he 
loved  so  truly,  he  said,  “ Stop,  Mr.  Constantine  ! I conjure 
you,  do  not  go  into  the  countess’s  room  ! ” 

The  eyes  of  Thaddeus  turned  with  emotion  on  the  distressed 
face  of  the  physician  ; one  glance  explained  what  the  doctor 
durst  not  speak.  Faintly  answering,  “I  will  obey  you,”  he 
hurried  from  the  apartment. 

I In  the  count’s  silent  descent  from  Lady  Albina’s  room  to 
; the  breakfast-parlor,  he  too  plainly  perceived  by  the  tears  of 
I the  servants  that  he  had  now  another  sorrow  to  add  to  his 
! mournful  list.  He  hastened  from  participation  in  their  clamor- 
i ous  laments,  almost  unseen,  into  the  parlor,  and  shutting  the 
I door,  threw  himself  into  a chair;  but  rest  induced  thought,  and 
j thought  subdued  his  soul.  He  started  from  his  position;  he 
paced  the  room  in  a paroxysm  of  anguish ; he  would  have  given 
Jvvorlds  for  one  tear  to  relieve  his  oppressed  heart.  Ready  to 
I suffocate,  he  threw  open  a window  and  leaned  out.  Not  a star 
,|  vas  visible  to  light  the  darkness.  The  wind  blew  freshly,  and 

Ivith  parched  lips  he  inhaled  it  as  the  reviving  breath  of 
H^eaven. 

He  was  sitting  on  the  window-seat,  with  his  head  leaning 
igainst  the  casement,  when  Pembroke  entered  unobserved; 
walking  up  to  Ihin,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  ejacu- 
ated  in  a tremulous  voice,  “Thaddeus,  dear  Thaddeus ! ” 


THADDEUS  OF  IVAESA  W. 


356 


Thaddeus  rose  at  the  well-known  sounds : they  reminded 
him  that  he  was  not  yet  alone  in  the  world ; for  his  soul  had 
been  full  of  the  dying  image  of  his  own  mother.  Clasping 
Somerset  in  his  arms,  he  exclaimed,  Heaven  has  still  reserved 
thee,  faithful  and  beloved,  to  be  my  comforter  ! In  thy  friend- 
ship and  fond  memories,’’  he  added,  with  a yet  heaving  breast, 
‘‘  I shall  find  tender  bonds  of  the  past  still  to  endear  me  to  this 
world.” 

Pembroke  received  the  embrace  of  his  friend ; he  felt  his 
tears  upon  his  cheek ; but  he  could  neither  return  the  one  nor 
sympathize  with  the  other.  The  conviction  that  he  was  soon 
to  sever  that  cord,  that  he  was  to  deprive  the  man  who  had 
preserved  his  life  of  the  only  stay  of  his  existence,  and  abandon 
him  to  despair,  struck  to  his  soul.  Grasping  the  hand  of  his 
friend,  he  gazed  on  his  averted  and  dejected  features  with  a 
look  of  desperate  horror.  Sobieski,”  cried  he,  whatever 
may  happen,  never  forget  that  I swear  I love  you  dearer  than 
my  life  ! And  when  I am  forced  to  abandon  my  friend,  I shall 
not  be  long  of  abandoning  what  will  then  be  worthless  to  me.” 

Not  perceiving  the  frenzied  look  which  accompanied  this 
energetic  declaration,  Thaddeus  gave  no  other  meaning  to  the 
words  than  a renewed  assurance  of  his  friend’s  affection. 

The  entrance  of  Dr.  Cavendish  disturbed  the  two  young 
men,  to  whom  he  communicated  the  increased  indisposition  of 
Lady  Albina. 

‘‘  The  shock  she  has  received,”  said  he,  “ has  so  materially 
shaken  her  frame,  I have  ordered  her  to  bed  and  administered 
an  opiate,  which  I hope  will  procure  her  repose  ; and  you,  my 
dear  sir,”  added  he,  addressing  the  count,  you  had  better 
seek  rest ! The  stoutest  constitution  might  sink  under  wh:., 
you  have  lately  endured.  Pray  allow  Mr.  Somerset  and  myself 
to  prevail  with  you,  on  our  accounts,  if  not  on  your  own,  to 
retire  for  half  an  hour  ! ” 

Thaddeus,  in  disregard  of  his  personal  comfort,  never  in- 
fringed on  that  of  others ; he  felt  that  he  could  not  sleep,  buf 
he  knew  it  would  gratify  his  benevolent  friends  to  suppose  that 
he  did ; and  accordingly  he  went  to  a room,  and  throwing  him- 
self on  a bed,  lay  for  an  hour,  ruminating  on  all  that  had  passed. 

There  is  an  omnipresence  in  thought,  or  a celerity  produ- 
cing nearly  the  same  effect,  which  brings  within  the  short  space 
of  a few  minutes  the  images  of  many  foregoing  years.  In  ah 
most  the  same  moment,  Thaddeus  reflected  on  his  strange 
meeting  with  the  countess  ; the  melancholy  story  ; her  forlorn 
death-bed ; the  fatal  secret  that  her  vile  husband  and  son  were 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


357 


, his  father  and  brother ; and  that  her  daughter,  whom  his  warm 
heart  acknowledged  as  a sister,  was  with  him  under  the  same 
roof,  and,  like  him,  the  innocent  inheritor  of  her  father’s  shame. 

Whilst  these  multifarious  and  painful  meditations  were  agi- 
tating his  perturbed  mind,  Dr.  Cavendish  found  repose  on  a 
couch  ; and  Pembroke  Somerset,  resolving  once  more  to  try 
the  influence  of  entreaty  on  the  hitherto  generous  spirit  of  his 
. father,  with  mingled  hope  and  despondence  commenced  a last 
attempt  to  shake  his  fatal  resolution,  in  the  following  letter : 

“To  Sir  Robert  Somerset,  Bart,  Somerset  Castle. 

“ I have  not  ventured  into  the  presence  of  my  dear  father 
; sinee  he  uttered  the  dreadful  words  which  I would  give  my 
existence  to  believe  I had  never  heard.  You  denounced  a^ 
* curse  upon  me  if  I opposed  your  will  to  have  me  break  all  con- 
? nection  with  the  man  who  preserved  my  life  ! When  I think 
on  this,  when  I remember  that  it  was  from  you  I received  a 
command  so  inexplicable  from  one  of  your  character,  so  dis- 
graceful to  mine,  I am  almost  mad  ; and  what  I shall  be  should 
you,  by  repeating  your  injunctions,  force  me  to  obey  them, 
Heaven  only  knows  ! but  I am  certain  that  I cannot  survive 
the  loss  of  my  honor  ; I cannot  survive  .the  sacrifice  of  all  my 
principles  of  virtue  which  such  conduct  must  forever  destroy. 

“Oh,  my  father!  I conjure  you,  reflect,  before,  in  compli- 
ance with  an  oath  it  v/as  almost  guilt  to  make,  you  decree  your 
j only  son  to  everlasting  shame  and  remorse.  Act  how  I will,  I 
shall  never  be  happy  more.  I cannot  live  under  your  maledic- 
tion ; and  should  I give  up  my  friend,  my  conscience  will  re- 
proach me  every  instant  of  my  existence.  Can  I draw  the 
breath  which  he  prolonged  and  cease  to  remember  that  I have 
I abandoned  him  to  want  and  misery  ? It  were  vain  to  flatter 
myself  that  he  will  condescend  to  escape  either  by  the  munifi- 
cence which  you  offer  as  a compensation  for  my  friendship. 
/ No  ; I cannot  believe  that  his  sensible  and  independent  nature 
. is  so  changed ; circumstances  never  had  any  power  over  the 
{ nobility  of  his  soul. 

“ Misfortune,  which  threw  the  Count  Sobieski  on  the  bounty 
^ of  England,  cannot  make  him  appear  otherwise  in  my  eyes 
_ than  as  the  idol  of  Warsaw,  whose  smile  was  honor  and  whose 
friendship  conferred  distinction. 

“Though  deprived  of  the  splendor  of  command;  though 
I . the  eager  circle  of  friends  no  longer  cluster  round  him  ; though 
a stranger  in  this  country,  and  without  a home ; though,  in 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


358 

place  of  an  equipage  and  retinue,  he  is  followed  by  calamity 
and  neglect,  yet,  in  my  mind,  I still  see  him  in  a car  of  triumph  : 
I see  not  only  the  opposer  of  his  nation’s  enemies,  but  the 
vanquisher  of  his  own  desires.  I see  the  heir  of  a princely 
house,  who,  when  mankind  have  deserted  him,  is  yet  encom- 
passed by  his  virtues.  I see  him,  though  cast  out  from  a hard- 
ened and  unjust  society,  still  surrounded  by  the  lingering 
spirits  of  those  who  were  called  to  better  worlds ! 

‘‘And  this  is  the  man,  my  dear  father,  (whom  I am  sure, 
had  he  been  of  any  other  country  than  Poland,  you  would  have 
selected  from  all  other  men  to  be  the  friend  and  example 
of  your  son), — this  is  he  whom  you  command  me  to  thrust 
away. 

“I  beseech  you  to  examine  this  injunction!  I am  now 
writing  under  the  same  roof  with  him ; it  depends  on  you,  my 
ever-revered  father,  whether  I am  doing  so  for  the  last  time ; 
whether  this  is  the  last  day  in  which  your  son  is  to  consider 
himself  a man  of  honor,  or  whether  he  is  henceforth  to  be  a 
wretch  overwhelmed  with  shame  and  sorrow  { 

“ I have  not  yet  dared  to  utter  one  word  of  your  cruel  orders 
to  my  unhappy  friend.  He  is  now  retired  to  seek  some  rest, 
after  the  new  anguish  of  having  witnessed  the  almost  sudden 
death  of  Lady  Tinemouth.  Should  I have  to  tell  him  that  he 
is  to  lose  me  too — but  I cannot  add  more.  Your  own  heart, 
my  father,  must  tell  you  that  my  soul  is  on  the  rack  until  I 
have  an  answer  to  this  letter.” 

“ Before  I shut  my  paper,  let  me  implore  you  on  my  knees, 
whatever  you  may  decide,  do  not  hate  me  ; do  not  load  my 
breaking  heart  with  a parent’s  curse  1 Whatever  I may  be, 
however  low  and  degraded  in  my  own  eyes,  still,  that  I sacrificed 
what  is  most  precious  to  me,  to  my  father,  will  impart  the  only 
consolation  which  will  then  have  power  to  reach  your  dutiful 
and  afflicted  son. 

“P.  Somerset. 

“ Harrowby  Abbey,  two  o’clock  in  the  morning.” 

Dr.  Cavendish  remained  in  a profound  sleep,  whilst  Pem- 
broke, with  an  aching  heart  having  written  the  above  letter, 
and  dispatched  it  by  a man  and  horse,  tried  to  compose  him- 
self to  half  an  hour’s  forgetfulness  of  life  and  its  turmoils  ; but 
he  found  his  attempts  as  ineffectual  as  those  of  his  friend. 

Thaddeus  had  found  no  repose  on  his  restless  pillow.  Re- 
luctant to  disturb  the  doctor  and  Somerset,  who,  he  hoped, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


359 


having  less  cause  for  regret,  were  sleeping  tranquilly,  he  re- 
mained in  bed  ; but  he  longed  for  morning.  To  his  fevered 
nerves,  any  change  of  position,  with  movement,  seemed  better 
than  where  he  was,  and  with  some  gleams  of  pleasure  he  watched 
the  dawn,  and  the  rising  of  the  son  behind  the  opposite  hill. 
He  got  up,  opened  the  window  to  inhale  the  air,  and  looking 
out,  saw  a man  throw  himself  off  a horse,  which  was  all  in  foam, 
and  enter  the  house. 

Surprised  at  this  circumstance,  he  descended  to  the  parlor 
to  make  inquiry,  and  met  the  man  in  the  hall,  who,  being  Pem- 
broke’s messenger,  had  returned  express  from  the  Castle,  bear- 
ing an  order  from  Sir  Robert  (who  was  taken  alarmingly  ill) 
that  his  son  must  come  back  immediately. 

Dismayed  with  this  new  distress,  Mr.  Somerset,  on  its  in- 
stant information,  pressed  the  count  so  closely  to  his  breast 
when  he  bade  him  farewell,  that  a more  suspicious  person  might 
have  apprehended  it  was  a final  parting ; but  Thaddeus  dis- 
cerned nothing  more  in  the  anguish  of  his  friend’s  countenance 
than  fear  for  the  safety  of  Sir  Robert ; and  fervently  wishing 
his  recovery,  he  bade  Pembroke  remember  that  should  more 
assistance  be  necessary.  Dr.  Cavendish  would  remain  at  the 
Abbey  until  Lady  Albina’s  return  to  the  Wolds. 

Mr.  Somerset  being  gone,  towards  noon,  when  the  count  was 
anxiously  awaiting  the  appearance  of  the  physician  from  the 
room  of  the  new  invalid,  he  was  disappointed  by  the  abrupt 
entrance  of  two  gentlemen.  He  rose,  and  with  his  usual  cour- 
tesy to  strangers,  inquired  their  business  ? The  elder  of  the 
men,  with  a fierce  countenance  and  a voice  of  thunder,  an- 
nounced himself  to  be  the  Earl  of  Tinemouth,  and  the  other 
his  son. 

We  are  come,”  said  he,  standing  at  a haughty  distance — 
“we  are  come  to  carry  from  this  nest  of  infamy  Lady  Albina 
Stanhope,  whom  some  one  of  her  mother’s  paramours — perhaps 
you,  sir — dared  to  steal  from  her  father’s  home  yesterday 
evening.  And  I am  come  to  give  you,  sir,  who  I guess  to  be 
some  fugitive  vagabond  ! the  chastisement  your  audacity  de- 
serves.” 

With  difficulty  the  Count  Sobieski  suppressed  the  passions 
which  were  rising  in  his  breast.  He  turned  a scornful  glance 
on  the  person  of  Lord  Harwold  (who,  with  an  air  of  insuffer- 
able derision,  was  coolly  measuring  his  figure  through  an  eye- 
glass) ; and  then,  replying  to  the  earl,  said,  in  a firm  voice, 
“ My  lord,  whoever  you  suppose  me  to  be,  it  matters  not ; I 
now  stand  in  the  place  of  Lady  Tinemouth’s  confidential  friend, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


360 

and  to  my  last  gasp  I will  prove  myself  the  defender  of  her 
injured  name.’^ 

Her  lover ! ’’  interrupted  Lord  Harwold,  turning  on  his 

heel. 

“ Her  defender,  sir ! ’’  repeated  Thaddeus,  with  a tremen- 
dous frown  ; “ and  shame  and  sorrow  will  pursue  that  son  who 
requires  a stranger  to  supply  his  duty.’’ 

Wretch  ! ” cried  the  earl,  forgetting  his  assumed  loftiness, 
and  advancing  passionately  towards  Thaddeus,  with  his  stick 
held  up  ; ‘‘how  dare  you  address  such  language  to  an  English 
nobleman  ? ” 

“ By  the  right  of  nature,  which  holds  her  laws  over  all  man- 
kind,” returned  Thaddeus,  calmly  looking  on  the  raised  stick. 

“ When  an  English  nobleman  forgets  that  he  is  a son,  he  de- 
serves reproach  from  his  meanest  vassal.” 

“ You  see,  my  lord,”  cried  Harwold,  sliding  behind  his 
father,  “ what  we  bring  on  ourselves  by  harboring  these  demo- 
cratic foreigners  ! Sir,”  added  he,  addressing  himself  to  Thad- 
deus, “your  dangerous  principles  shall  be  communicated  to 
Government.  Such  traitors  ought  to  hanged.” 

Sobieski  eyed  the  enraged  little  lord  with  contempt ; and 
turning  to  the  earl,  who  was  again  going  to  speak,  he  said,  in 
an  unaltered  tone,  “ I cannot  guess.  Lord  Tinemouth,  what  is 
the  reason  of  this  attack  on  me.  I came  hither  by  accident ; 
I found  the  countess  ill ; and,  from  respect  to  her  excellent 
qualities,  I remained  with  her  until  her  eyes  were  closed  for- 
ever. She  desired  to  see  her  daughter  before  she  died, — what 
human  heart  could  deny  a mother  such  a request  ? — and  Pem- 
broke Somerset,  her  kinsman,  undertook  to  bring  Lady  Albina 
to  the  Abbey. 

“ Pembroke  Somerset ! ” echoed  the  earl.  “ A pretty  guard 
for  my  daughter,  truly  ! I have  no  doubt  that  he  is  just  such  a 
fellow  as  his  father — just  such  a person  as  yourself  ! I am  not 
to  be  imposed  upon.  I know  Lady  Tinemouth  to  have  been  a 
disgrace  to  me,  and  you  to  be  that  German  adventurer  on 
whose  account  I sent  her  from  London.” 

Shocked  at  this  calumny  on  the  memory  of  a woman  whose 
fame  from  any  other  mouth  came  as  unsullied  as  purity  itself, ' 
Thaddeus  gazed  with  horror  at  the  furious  countenance  of  the  ! 
man  whom  he  believed  to  be  his  father.  His  heart  swelled 
but  not  deigning  to  reply  to  a charge  as  unmanly  as  it  was ' 
false,  he  calmly  took  out  of  his  pocket  two  letters  which  the 
countess  had  dictated  to  her  husband  and  her  son. 

Lord  Harwold  tore  his  open,  cast  his  eyes  over  the  first ; 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


361 

words,  then  crumpling  it  in  his  hand,  threw  it  from  him,  ex- 
claiming, I am  not  to  be  frightened  either  by  her  arts  or 
the  falsehoods  of  the  fellows  with  whom  she  dishonored  her 
name,’’ 

Thaddeus,  no  longer  master  of  himself,  sprang  towards 
this  unnatural  son,  and  seized  his  arm  with  an  iron  grasp. 

Lord  Harwold  ! ” cried  he,  in  a dreadful  voice,  “ were  it  not 
that  I have  some  mercy  on  you  for  that  parent’s  sake,  to  whom, 
like  a parricide,  you  are  giving  a second  death  by  such  mur- 
derous slander,  I would  resent  her  wrongs  at  the  hazard  of 
your  worthless  life  ! ” 

“ My  lord  ! my  lord ! ” cried  the  trembling  Harwold,  quak- 
ing under  the  gripe  of  Thaddeus,  and  shrinking  from  the  ter- 
rible brightness  of  his  eye, — my  lord  ! my  lord,  rescue  me  ! ” 

The  earl,  almost  suffocated  with  rage,  called  out,  “ Ruffian  ! 
let  go  my  son  ! ” and  again  raising  his  arm,  aimed  a blow  at 
the  head  of  Thaddeus,  who,  wrenchingthe  stick  out  of  the  foaming 
lord’s  hand,  snapped  it  in  two,  and  threw  the  pieces  out  of  the 
open  window. 

Lord  Harwold  took  this  opportunity  to  ring  the  bell  vio- 
lently, on  which  summons  two  of  his  servants  entered  the 
room. 

Now,  you  low-born,  insolent'  scoundrel,”  cried  the  dis- 
armed earl,  stamping  with  his  feet,  and  pointing  to  the  men 
who  stood  at  the  door ; ‘‘  you  shall  be  turned  by  the  neck  and 
heels  out  of  this  house.  Richard,  James,,  collar  that  fellow 
instantly.” 

Thaddeus  only  extended  his  arm  to  the  men  (who  were 
looking  confusedly  on  each  other),  and  calmly  said,  “ If  either 
of  you  attempt  to  obey  this  command  of  your  lord,  you  shall 
have  cause  to  repent  it.” 

The  men  retreated.  The  earl  repeated  his  orders. 

Rascals  ! do  as  I command  you,  or  instantly  quit  my  ser- 
vice. I will  teach  you,”  added  he,  clenching  his  fist  at  the 
count,  who  stood  resolutely  and  serenely  before  him,  will 
teach  you  how  to  behave  to  a man  of  high  birth.” 

The  footmen  were  again  deterred  from  approaching  by  a 
glance  from  the  intimidating  eyes  of  Thaddeus,  who,  turning 
with  stern  dignity  to  the  storming  earl,  said,  “ You  can  teach 
me  nothing  about  high  birth  that  I do  not  already  know.  Could 
it  be  of  any  independent  benefit  to  a man,  then  had  I not  re- 
ceived the  taunts  and  insults  which  you  have  dared  to  cast 
upon  me.” 

At  that  moment  Dr.  Cavendish,  having  heard  a bustle,  made 


TI/ADDEUS  OF  WARS  A m 


362 

his  appearance.  Amazed  at  the  sight  of  two  strangers,  who, 
from  their  enraged  countenances  and  the  proud  elevation  with 
which  Thaddeus  was  standing  between  them,  he  rightly  judged 
to  be  the  earl  and  his  son,  he  advanced  towards  his  friend,  in- 
tending to  support  him  in  the  attack  which  he  saw  was  men- 
aced by  the  violent  gestures  of  these  visitors. 

‘‘  Dr.  Cavendish,’’  said  Thaddeus,  speaking  to  him  as  he 
approached,  “ your  name  must  be  a passport  to  the  confidence 
of  any  man  ; I therefore  shall  gratify  the  husband  of  my  ever- 
lamented  friend  by  quitting  this  house  ; but  I delegate  to  you 
the  office  with  which  she  entrusted  me.  I leave  you  in  charge 
of  her  sacred  remains,  and  of  the  jewels  which  you  will  find  in 
her  apartment.  She  desired  that  half  of  them  might  be  given, 
with  her  blessing,  to  her  daughter,  and  the  other  half,  with  her 
pardon,  to  her  son.” 

‘‘Tell  me,  Dr.  Cavendish,”  cried  the  earl,  as  Thaddeus  was 
passing  him  to  leave  the  room,  “ who  is  that  insolent  fellow 
By  heaven,  he  shall  smart  for  this  ! ” 

“ Ay,  that  he  shall,”  rejoined  Lord  Harwold,  “if  I have  any 
interest  with  the  Alien-office.” 

Dr.  Cavendish  was  preparing  to  speak,  when  Thaddeus, 
turning  round  at  this  last  threat  of *the  viscount,  said,  “If  I 
did  not  know  myself  to  be  above  Lord  Harwold’s  power,  per- 
haps he  might  provoke  me  to  treat  him  according  to  his  de- 
serts ; but  I abjure  resentment,  while  I pity  his  delusions. 
For  you,  my  lord,”  “ added  he,  addressing  the  earl  with  a less 
calm  countenance,  “ there  is  an  angel  in  heaven  who  pleads 
against  the  insults  you  have  uninquiringly  and  unjustly  heaped 
upon  an  innocent  man  ! ” 

Thaddeus  disappeared  from  the  apartment  while  uttering 
the  last  word ; hastening  from  the  house  and  park,  he  stopped 
near  the  brow  of  the  hill,  at  the  porch  of  his  lately  peaceful 
little  hotel.  The  landlady  was  a sister  of  John  Jacobs,  the 
faithful  servant  of  his  lamented  friend,  and  who  was  then  watch- 
ing the  door  of  the  neglected  chamber  in  which  the  sacred  re- 
mains of  his  dear  mistress  lay,  as  he  would  have  guarded  her 
life,  had  the  foes  who  had  now  destroyed  it  been  still  menacing 
its  flickering  flame.  T ie  worthy  couple  were  also  attached  to 
that  benevolent  lad^'  ^ and  with  sad  looks,  but  respectful  web 
coming,  they  saw  Mr.  Constantine  re-enter  their  humble  home, 
and  assured  him  of  its  retirement  as  long  as  he  might  wish  to 
abide  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Abbey.  Any  prospect  of  re- 
pose promised  elysium  to  him  ; and  with  harassed  and  torn 
nerves  possession  of  his  apartment,  which  looked  down 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


363 

fhe  road  that  led  from  the  old  monastic  structure  o tne  town 
of  Grantham.  The  rapidity  of  the  recent  events  bewildered 
his  senses,  like  the  illusions  of  a dream.  He  had  seen  his 
father,  his  sister,  his  brother ; and  most  probably  he  had  parted 
from  them  forever  ! — at  least,  he  hoped  he  should  never  again 
be  tortured  with  the  sight  of  Lord  Tinemouth  or  his  son. 

How,’’  thought  he,  whilst  walking  up  and  down  his  solitary 
parlor,  “ could  the  noble  nature  of  my  mother  love  such  a man  ? 
and  how  could  he  have  held  so  long  an  empire  over  the  pure 
heart  he  has  just  now  broken.” 

He  could  nowhere  discern,  in  the  bloated  visage  and  rage- 
ful  gestures  of  the  earl,  any  of  that  beauty  of  countenance  or 
grace  of  manners  which  had  alike  charmed  Therese  Sobieski 
and  the  tender  Adeliza. 

Like  those  hideous  chasms  which  are  dug  deep  in  the  land 
by  the  impetuous  sweep  of  a torrent,  the  course  of  violent  pas- 
sions leaves  vast  and  irreparable  traces  on  the  features  and  in 
the  soul.  So  it  was  with  Lord  Tinemouth. 

How  legibly  does  vice  or  virtue,”  ejaculated  Thaddeus, 
write  itself  on  the  human  face  ! The  earl’s  might  once  have 
been  fine,  but  the  lineaments  of  selfishness  and  sin  have  de- 
graded every  part  of  him.  Mysterious  Providence ! Can  he  be 
my  father — can  it  be  his  blood  that  is  now  running  in  my  veins? 
Can  it  be  his  blood  that  rises  at  this  moment  with  detestation 
against  him  ? ” 

Before  the  sun  set,  Sobieski  was  aroused  from  these  painful 
soliloquies  by  still  more  painful  feelings.  He  saw  from  his 
window  a hearse  driving  at  full  speed  up  the  road  that  ascended 
to  the  Abbey,  and  presently  return  at  a slower  pace,  followed 
[ by  a single  black  coach. 

I,  Inhuman  men  ! ” exclaimed  he,  while  pursuing  with  his 
j eyes  the  tips  of  the  sable  plumes  as  the  meagre  cavalcade  of 
[ mourners  wound  down  the  hill  j could  you  not  allow  this  poor 
Lcorse  a little  rest?  Must  her  persecution  be  extended  to  the 
!- grave  ? Must  her  cold  relics  be  insulted,  be  hurried  to  the 
I tomb  without  reverence — without  decency?  ” 

, The  filial  heart  that  uttered  this  thought  also  of  his  own  in- 
I jured  mother,  and  shrunk  with  horror  at  this  climax  of  the  earl’s 
barbarity.  Dr.  Cavendish  entered  with  a flushed  countenance, 
i He  spoke  indignantly  of  the  act  he  still  saw  from  the  window, 

' which  he  denounced  as  a sacrilege  against  the  dead.  Not 
|four-and-twenty  hours  since,”  cried  he,  “ she  expired  ! and  she 
Ids  hurried  into  the  cold  bosom  of  the  earth,  like  a criminal,  or 
ua  creature  whose  ashes  a moment  above  ground  might  spread 


3^4 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


a pestilence.  Oh,  how  can  that  sweet  victim,  Lady  Albina,! 
share  such  peccant  blood  ? ’’ 

Thaddeus,  whose  soul  had  just  writhed  under  a similar 
question  with  regard  to  himself,  could  little  bear  the  repetition, 
and  interrupted  the  good  physician  by  tenderly  inquiring  how 
^he  had  borne  that  so  abrupt  removal  of  her  mother’s  remains. 

“ With  mute  anguish,”  returned  Dr.  Cavendish,  in  a respond- 
ing, calmer  voice  of  pity  ; and  though  I had  warned  her 
father  that  the  shock  of  so  suddenly  tearing  his  daughter  from 
such  beloved  relics  might  peril  her  own  life,  he  continued  ob- 
durate ; and  putting  her  into  his  travelling  chariot  in  a state  of 
insensibility,  along  with  her  maid,  in  a few  minutes  afterwards 
I saw  him  set  off  in  a hired  post-chaise,  accompanied  by  his 
detestable  son,  loaded  with  more  than  one  curse,  muttered  by 
the  honest  rustics.  Only  servants  followed  in  that  mourning 
coach.” 

In  the  midst  of  this  depressing  conversation  a courier  ::r-! 
rived  from  Stamford  to  Dr.  Cavendish,  recalling  him  immediately 
to  return  thither,  the  'invalid  there  having  sustained  an  alarm- 
ing relapse.  The  good  doctor,  sincerely  reluctant  to  quit  Thad- 
deus (whom  he  still  knew  by  no  other  name  than  Constantine), 
ordered  the  dispatch-chaise  to  the  hotel  door.  When  it  was 
announced,  he  shook  hands  with  the  now  lonely  survivor  of  his: 
departed  friend  in  this  stranger  land,  requested  that  he  might 
hear  from  him  before  he  left  that  part  of  the  country  for  Lon- 
don again,  and  bidding  him  many  cordial  adieus,  continued  tol 
look  out  of  the  back  window  of  the  carriage,  until  the  faint* 
light  of  the  moon  and  the  receding  glimmer  of  the  village  candles 
finally  hid  the  little  spot  that  yet  contained  this  young  and  sadly-; 
stricken  exile  from  his  lingering  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

THE  OLD  VILLAGE  HOTEL. 

For  the  first  time  during  many  nights,  Thaddeus  slept 
soundly ; but  his  dreams  were  disturbed,  and  he  awoke  from 
them  at  an  early  hour,  unreffeshed  and  in  much  fever. 

The  simple  breakfast  which  his  attentive  host  and  hostess 
set  before  him  was  scarcely  touched.  Their  nicely-dressed j 
dinner  met  with  the  same  fate.  He  was  ill,  and  possessed 
neither  appetite  nor  spirits  to  eat.  The  good  people  being  too 


THADDEliS  OF  IFARSAW.  365 

ivil  to  intrude  upon  him,  he  sat  alone  in  his  window  from  eight 
.’clock  (at  which  hour  he  had  arisen)  until  the  cawing  of  the 
ooks,  as  they  returned  to  the  Abbey-woods,  reminded  him  of 
he  approach  of  evening.  He  was  uneasy  at  the  absence  of 
Somerset,  not  so  much  on  his  own  account,  as  on  that  of  Sii 
lobert,  whose  increased  danger  might  have  occasioned  this 
delay  ; however,  he  hoped  otherwise.  Longing  earnestly  for  a 
emporary  sanctuary  under  his  friend’s  paternal  roof,  in  the 
[uiet  of  its  peace  and  virtues,  he  trusted  that  the  sympathy  of 
Pembroke,  the  only  confidant  of  his  past  sorrows,  would  tend 
0 heal  his  recent  wounds  (though  the  nature  of  the  most  galL 
ng,  he  felt,  must  ever  remain  unrevealed  even  to  him  !)  and  so 
it  him,  should  it  be  required,  to  yet  further  brave  the  buffets  of 
in  adverse  fate.  Nor  was  Miss  Beaufort  forgotten.  If  ever 
)ne  idea  more  than  another  sweetened  the  bitterness  of  his 
eflections,  it  was  the  remembrance  of  Mary  Beaufort,  \\dien- 
^ver  her  image  rose  before  him — whether  he  were  standing  in 
■;he  lonely  day  with  folded  arms,  in  vacant  gaze  on  the  valley 
beneath,  or  when  lying  on  his  watchful  pillow  he  opened  his 
iching  eyes  to  the  morning  light — still,  as  her  angel  figure  pre- 
sented itself  to  his  mind,  he  did  indeed  sigh,  but  it  was  a sigh 
aden  with  balm  ; it  did  not  tear  his  breast  like  tliose  which  had 
oeen  wrung  from  him  by  the  hard  hand  of  calamity  and  insult. 
It  was  the  soft  breath  of  a hallowed  love,  which  makes  man 
dream  of  heaven,  while  he  feels  sinking  to  an  early  grave. 
Thaddeusfelt  it  delightful  to  recollect  how  she  had  looked  on 
iiim  that  day  in  Hyde  Park,  when  she  ‘‘  bade  him  take  care  of 
his  own  life,  while  so  devoted  to  that  of  his  dying  friend  ! ” and 
Iiow  she  “ blessed  him  in  his  task,”  with  a voice  of  tenderness 
30  startlingly  sacred  to  his  soul  in  its  accents,  that  in  remem- 
bering her  words  now,  when  so  near  the  moment  of  his  again 
seeing  and  hearing  her,  his  soul  expanded  towards  her,  agitated, 
indeed,  but  soothed  and  comforted. 

I “ Sweet  Mary  ! ” murmured  he,  I shall  behold  thee  once 
more  ; I shall  again  revive  under  thy  kind  smile  ! Oh,  it  is 
happiness  to  know  that  I owe  my  liberty  to  thee,  though  I may 
[ not  dare  to  tell  thee  so  ! Yet  my  swelling  heart  may  cherish 
khe  dear  consciousness,  and,  bereaved  though  I am  of  all  I 
; formerly  loved,  be  indeed  blessed  while  on  earth  with  the 
I heaven-bestowed  privilege  of  loving  thee,  even  in  silence  and 
j forever  ! Alas  ! alas  ! a man  without  kindred  or  a country  dare 
i not  even  wish  thee  to  be  his  ! ” A sigh  from  the  depths  of  his 
; soul  closed  this  soliloquy. 

I The  sight  of  Pembroke  riding  through  the  field  towards  the 


366  THADDEUS  OF  tVAl^SAtV. 

little  inn,  recalled  the  thoughts  of  Sobieski  to  that  dear  friend 
alone.  He  went  out  to  meet  him.  Mr.  Somerset  saw  him,  and 
putting  his  horse  to  a brisk  canter,  was  at  his  side  in  a few 
minutes.  Thaddeus  asked  anxiously  about  the  baronet^s 
health.  Pembroke  answered  with  an  incoherency  devoid  of  all 
meaning.  Thaddeus  looked  at  him  with  surprise,  but  from  in- 
creased anxiety  forbore  to  repeat  the  question.  They  walked 
towards  the  inn  ; still  Pembroke  did  not  appear  to  recover  him- 
self, and  his  evident  absence  of  mind  and  the  wild  rambling  of 
his  eyes  were  so  striking,  that  Thaddeus  could  have  no  doubt 
of  some  dreadful  accident. 

As  soon  as  they  had  entered  the  little  parlor,  his  friend  cast 
himself  into  a chair,  and  throwing  off  his  hat,  wiped  away  the 
perspiration  which,  though  a cold  October  evening,  was  stream- 
ing down  his  forehead.  Thaddeus  endured  a suspense  which 
was  almost  insupportable. 

What  is  the  direful  matter,  dear  Pembroke  ? Is  any  we  i 
honor,  and  love,  ill  unto  death  } ’’  His  pale  face  showed  that 
he  apprehended  it,  and  he  thought  it  might  be  Mary. 

“ No,  no,’’  returned  Pembroke  ; everybody  is  well,  except- 
ing myself  and  my  father,  who,  I verily  believe,  has  lost  his 
senses  ; at  any  rate  he  will  drive  me  mad.” 

The  manner  in  which  this  reply  was  uttered  astonished 
Thaddeus  so  much,  that  he  could  only  gaze  with  wonder  on 
the  convulsed  feature  of  his  friend.  Pembroke  observed  his 
amazement,  and  laying  his  hand  on  his  arm,  said,  ‘‘  My  dear, 
dear  Sobieski ! what  do  I not  owe  to  you  ? Good  Heaven  ! 
how  humbled  am  I in  your  sight ! But  there  is  a Power  above 
who  knows  how  intimately  you  are  woven  with  every  artery  of 
this  heart.” 

I believe  it,  my  kind  Pembroke,”  cried  Thaddeus,  yet  more 
alarmed  than  before ; “ tell  me  what  it  is  that  distresses  you  ? 
If  my  counsel  or  my  sympathy  can  offer  anything  to  comfort 
or  assist  you,  you  know  I am  your  own.” 

Pembroke  burst  into  tears,  and  covering  his  streaming  eyes 
with  his  handkerchief,  exclaimed,  “ I am  indeed  distressed — ■ 
distressed  even  beyond  your  comfort.  Oh  ! how  can  I speak 
it ! You  will  despise  my  father ! You  will  spurn  me  ! ” 

‘‘  Impossible  ! ” cried  Thaddeus  with  energy,  though  his 
flushed  cheek  and  fainting  heart  immediately  declared  that  he 
had  anticipated  what  he  must  hear. 

‘‘  I see,”  cried  Pembroke,  regarding  the  altered  features  of 
his  friend  with  a glance  of  agony — I see  that  you  think  it  is 
possible  that  my  father  can  sink  me  below  my  own  contempt.” 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAIV. 


367 

The  benumbing  touch  of  ingratitude  ran  through  the  veins 
of  Thaddeus ; his  frame  was  chilled — was  petrified  ; but  his 
just  affection  and  calmed  countenance  proclaimed  how  true  a 
judgment  he  had  passed  on  the  whole.  He  took  the  burning 
land  of  Mr.  Somerset  in  his  own,  and,  with  a steady  and  con- 
soling voice,  said,  Assure  yourself,  dear  Pembroke,  whatever 
oe  the  commands  of  your  father,  I shall  adhere  to  them.  I 
•:annot  understand  by  these  generous  emotions  that  he  objecP; 
;o  receive  me  as  your  friend.  Perhaps/’  added  he, — a flash  of 
Rispicion  gleaming  through  his  mind, — “perhaps  Miss  Beau- 
brt  may  have  perceived  the  devotedness  of  my  heart,  and  dis- 
daining my ” 

“ Hush,  for  Heaven  s sake  1 ” cried  Pembroke,  starting 
Tom  his  chair ; “ do  not  implicate  my  poor  cousin  ! Do  not 
idd  to  her  disappointment  the  misery  that  you  suspect  her  I 
^o,  Thaddeus,”  continued  he,  in  a calmer  tone  ; “ Mary  Beau- 
ort  loves  you : she  confessed  it  in  an  agony  of  grief  on  my 
iosom,  just  before  I came  away ; and  only  through  her  I dare 
iver  expect  to  meet  forgiveness  from  you.  In  spite  of  my 
ather,  you  may  marry  her.  She  has  no  curse  to  dread  ; she 
leed  not  sacrifice  all  that  is  most  precious  in  her  sight  to  the 
)bstinate  caprice  of  criminal  resentment.” 

I'  “ A curse  ! ” reiterated  Thaddeus.  “ How  is  this  ! — what 
lave  I done,  to  deserve  such  hatred  from  your  father .?  ” 

“Oh!  nothing,”  cried  Pembroke — “nothing.  My  father 
-lever  saw  you.  My  father  thanks  you  for  all  that  you  have 
lone  for  me  ; but  it  is  your  country  that  he  hates.  Some  Po- 
mander, years  back,  injured  him  ; and  my  father  took  a fatal 
pDath  against  the  whole  nation.  He  declares  that  he  cannot, 
le  will  not,  break  it,  were  he  by  so  doing  to  save  his  own  life^ 
)r  even  mine  ; for,  (Heaven  forgive  me  !)  I was  this  morning 
vTought  up  to  such  frenzy,  that  I threatened  to  destroy  myself 
ather  than  sacrifice  my  gratitude  and  honor  to  his  cruel  com- 
I nands  I Nay,  to  convince  you  that  his  is  no  personal  enmity 
'O  yourself,  he  ordered  me  to  give  you  writings  which  will  put 
p'ou  in  possession  of  an  independence  forever.  I have  them 
I nth  me.” 

I All  the  pride  of  his  princely  house  rose  at  once  in  the 
)reast  of  Thaddeus.  Though  full  of  indignation  at  this  insult 
; 'f  Sir  Robert’s,  he  regarded  the  averted  face  of  his  friend  with 
, ompassion,  whilst  in  a firm  voice  he  rejected  the  degrading 
ompromise. 

your  father,”  added  he,  addressing  Pembroke,  in  a 
I one  which  even  his  affection  could  not  soften  from  a command, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAIV, 


368 

‘‘  that  my  absence  is  not  to  be  bought  with  money,  nor  my  triend- 
ship  so  rewarded.” 

Pembroke  covered  his  burning  face  with  his  hands.  This 
sight  at  once  brought  down  the  haughty  spirit  of  Sobieski,  who 
continued  in  gentler  accents,  “ Whatever  be  the  sentiments  of 
Sir  Robert  Somerset,  they  shall  meet  with  due  attention  from 
me.  He  is  your  father,  therefore  I respect  him  ; but  he  has 
put  it  out  of  his  power  to  oblige  me  ; I cannot  accept  his 
bounty.  Though  your  heart,  my  dearest  Pembroke,  is  above 
all  price,  yet  I will  make  it  a sacrifice  to  your  duty.”  And  by 
so  doing  put  the  last  seal  on  my  misfortunes,  was  the  meaning 
of  the  heavy  sigh  which  accompanied  his  last  words. 

Pembroke  traversed  the  room  in  an  agony.  ‘‘  Merciful 
Providence  ! ” cried  he,  wringing  his  clasped  hands,  direct 
me  ! Oh,  Thaddeus,  if  you  could  read  my  tortured  heart,  you 
would  pity  me  ; you  would  see  that  this  affair  is  tearing  my  soul 
from  my  body.  What  am  I to  do  ? I cannot,  I will  not,  part 
with  you  forever.” 

Thaddeus,  with  a calm  sadness,  drew  him  to  a seat.  ‘‘  Be 
satisfied,”  said  he,  ‘‘that  I am  convinced  of  your  affection. 
Whatever  may  happen,  this  assurance  will  be  sufficient  to  give 
me  comfort ; therefore,  by  that  affection,  I entreat  you,  dear 
Pembroke,  not  to  bring  regret  to  me,  and  reproach  on  yourself, 
by  disobeying  in  any  way  the  will  of  your  father  in  this  matter  ! 
If ’we  separate  for  life,  remember,  my  beloved  friend,  that  the 
span  of  our  existence  here  is  short ; we  shall  meet  again  in  a, 
happier  world— perhaps  more  blest,  for  having  immolated  our' 
wishes  to  hard  duty  in  this.” 

“ Cease,  Sobieski,  cease  ! ” cried  Pembroke  ; “ I can  draw) 
no  consolation  from  this  reasoning.  It  is  not  duty  to  obey  aj 
hatred  little  short  of  distraction  ; and  if  we  now  separate,  I: 
feel  that  I never  shall  know  peace  again.  Good  Heaven!  what! 
comfort  can  I find  when  you  are  exposed  to  all  the  indignities 
which  the  world  levels  against  the  unfortunate  ? Can  I indulge 
in  the  luxuries  of  my  father’s  house  when  I know  that  you  have) 
neither  a home  nor  subsistence  ? No,  Thaddeus,  I am  not  such 
a villain.  I will  not  give  you  up,  though  my  father  should  load 
me  with  curses.  I trust  therfe  is  a just  Power  above  who  woulq 
avert  them.” 

Perceiving  that  argument  would  not  only  be  fruitless,  but 
might  probably  incense  his  friend’s  irritated  nature  to  the  com 
mission  of  some  rash  action,  Thaddeus  pretended  to  overlool^ 
the  frantic  gesture  and  voice  which  terminated  this  speech,  anc 
assuming  a serene  air,  replied  : “ Let  this  be  the  subject  of  S 
future  conversation.  At  present,  I must  corjure  you,  by  tN 


TfTADDEVS  OF  IVAFSAW. 


369 

happiness  of  us  both,  to  return  to  the  Castle.  You  know  my 
message  to  Sir  Robert.  Present  my  respects  to  your  aunt; 
and,”  added  he,  after  an  agitated  pause,  “ assure  Miss  Beau- 
fort that  whilst  I have  life,  her  goodness,  her  sometimes  re- 
membrance,  will  be ’’ 

Pembroke  interrupted  him.  “Why  these  messages,  dear 
Thaddeus  ? Do  not  suppose,  though  I fulfil  my  father’s  orders 
to  return  to  Somerset  to-night,  that  it  is  our  separation.  Gra- 
_cious  Heaven  ! Is  it  so  easy  to  part  forever  ? ” 

“Not  forever!  Oh,  no,”  replied  Thaddeus,  grasping  his 
hand ; “ we  shall  see  each  other  again  ; only,  meanwhile,  re- 
peat those,  alas!  inadequate  messages  to  your  aunt  and  cousin. 
Go,  my  dear  Pembroke,  to  your  father  ; and  may  the  Lord  of 
Heaven  bless  you  ! 

The  last  words  were  spoken  in  almost  a stifled  voice,  as  he 
opened  his  arms  and  strained  his  friend  to  his  breast. 

“I  shall  see  you  to-morrow,'’  cried  Pembroke;  '‘on  no 
other  condition  will  I leave  you  now.” 

Thaddeus  made  no  further  answer  to  this  demand  (which 
he  determined  should  never  be  granted)  than  a second  embrace. 
Pembroke  went  out  of  the  room  to  order  his  horse  ; then,  re- 
turning, he  stood  at  the  door,  and  holding  out  his  hand  to  the 
^ count,  repeated,  "Farewell  till  to-morrow.”  Thaddeus  pressed 
it  warmly,  and  he  disappeared. 

The  outward  gate  closed  after  his  friend,  but  Sobieski  re- 
mained on  the  seat  into  which  he  had  thrown  himself.  He  did 
not  venture  to  move,  lest  he  should  by  chance  catch  a second 
glance  of  Pembroke  from  the  window.  Now  that  he  was  gone, 
he  acknowledged  the  full  worth  of  what  he  had  relinquished! 
He  had  resigned  a man  who  loved  him  ; one  who  had  known 
and  revered  his  ever-lamented  grandfather,  and  his  mother— 
the  only  one  with  whom  he  could  have  discoursed  of  their  vir- 
tues! He  had  severed  the  link  which  had  united  his  present 
state  with  his  former  fortunes  ! and  throwing  his  arms  along  a 
table  that  stood  near  him,  he  leaned  his  aching  head  upon 
them,  and  in  idea  followed  with  a bleeding  heart  the  progress 
and  reception  of  his  friend  at  the  Castle. 

The  racking  misery  which  tortured  the  mind  of  Mr.  Somer- 
set was  not  borne  with  equal  resignation.  Conscious  of  his 
! having  inflicted  fresh  wounds  on  the  breast  of  his  truest  friend, 
his  spirits  were  so  ill  adapted  to  any  conversation,  that  he  was 
pleased  rather  than  disappointed  when  he  found  the  supper- 
I room  at  the  Castle  quite  vacant,  and  only  one  cover  on  the 
Table  awatting  his  arrival. 


37^ 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


He  asked  a few  questions  of  the  servants,  who  informed 
him  that  it  was  past  twelve  o’clock,  and  that  Sir  Robert,  who  , 
had  become  worse,  had  retired  to  bed  early  in  the  evening. 

“ And  where  are  my  aunt  and  cousin  ? ” demanded  Pern-  , 

broke. 

One  of  the  men  replied  that,  in  consequence  of  Miss  Beau- 
fort having  been  taken  suddenly  indisposed,  both  the  ladies 
left  the  saloon  before  eleven.  Pembroke  readily  guessed  the 
cause  of  her  disorder  ; he  too  truly  ascribed  it  to  Mary’s  anxiety  ^ 
respecting  the  reception  which  the  noble  Sobieski  would  give  to 
his  disgraceful  proposition.  Sighing  bitterly,  he  said  no  more 
but  went  to  his  chamber. 

The  restless  state  of  his  mind  a voke  Mr.  Somerset  by 
times.  Anxious  for  the  success  of  an  application  which  he 
intended  to  make  to  his  beloved  cousin,  whose  pure  and  virgin 
heart  he  believed  did  indeed  here  sympathize  with  his  own,  he 
traversed  the  terrace  for  an  hour  before  he  was  summoned  to 
breakfast.  The  baronet  continuing  too  ill  to  leave  his  room, 
the  ladies  only  were  in  the  parlor  when  he  entered.  Miss 
Dorothy,  who  had  learned  the  particulars  of  the  late  events 
from  her  niece,  longed  to  ask  Pembroke  how  his  noble  friend 
would  act  on  her  brother’s  so  strange  and  lamentable  conduct 
— conduct  so  unlike  himself  in  any  other  circumstance  of  grati- 
tude in  his  life.  But  every  time  she  moved  her  lips  to  inquire, 
her  nephew’s  inflamed  eyes  and  wan  countenance  made  her 
fear  to  venture  on  the  subject.  Mary  sat  in  mute  dejection, 
watching  the  agitation  of  his  features ; and  when  he  rose  to 
quit  the  room,  still  in  silence,  she  looked  wistfully  towards 
him.  Pembroke  turned  at  the  same  moment,  and  holding  out 
his  hand  to  her,  said,  “ Come,  Mary : I want  to  say  something 
to  you.  Will  you  walk  with  me  on  the  terrace ” 

With  a beating  heart  Miss  Beaufort  took  his  arm,  and  pro- 
ceeded without  a word  until  they  ascended  the  stone  steps  and 
reached  the  terrace.  A mutual  deep-drawn  sigh  was  the  first 
opening  to  a conversation  on  which  the  souls  of  both  hung. 
Pembroke  was  the  first  who  spoke. 

‘‘  My  dear  Mary,”  cried  he,  “you  are  now  my  sole  depend- 
ence. From  what  I told  you  yesterday  of  my  father’s  inflexi- 
bility, we  can  have  no  hope  of  his  relenting  : indeed,  after 
what  has  passed,  I could  not  flatter  myself  that  Thaddeus 
Sobieski  would  now  submit  to  any  obligation  at  his  hands. 
Already  he  has  refused,  with  all  the  indignation  I expected. 
Sir  Robert’s  offer  of  an  annuity.  My  dear  cousin,  how  can  1 
exist  and  yet  witness  this  my  best  friend  in  distress,  and  living 


THADDEUS  OF  tVARSA  W. 


371 

^vithout  the  succor  of  my  friendship  ? Heaven  knows,  this 
j :annot  be  the  case,  for  I would  sooner  perish  than  venture  to 
nsult  the  man  my  father  has  treated  so  ill  with  any  pecuniary 
)ffers  from  me  ! Therefore,  dear  girl,  it  is  on  you  alone  that  I 
i lepend.  With  his  whole  soul,  as  our  marriage  service  says, 
Thaddeus  ‘ worships  you ; ’ you  love  him  ! In  a few  days  you 
iTill  become  of  age.  You  will  be  your  own  mistress.  Marry 
"dm,  my  beloved  cousin,’’  cried  Pembroke,  pressing  her  hand 
:^o  his  lips,  “ and  relieve  my  heart  from  a load  of  misery  ! Be 
!;enerous,  my  sweet  Mary,”  added  he,  supporting  her  now 
rembling  frame  against  his  breast;  “act  up  to  your  noble 
lature,  and  offer  him,  by  me,  that  hand  which  his  calamities 
: nd  disinterestedness  preclude  him  from  wooing  himself.” 

Miss  Beaufort,  hardly  able  to  articulate,  replied,  “ I would 
^ ive  him  ail  that  I possess  could  it  purchase  him  one  tranquil 
our.  I would  serve  him  forever  could  I do  it  and  be  un- 
nown  ? but ” 

“ O,  do  not  hesitate ! — do  not  doubt ! ” interrupted  Pem- 
roke.  “To  serve  your  friends,  I know  you  are  capable  of 
|.ie  most  extraordinary  exertions.  I know  there  is  nothing 
’ithin  the  range  of  possibility  that  your  generous  disposition 
'^ould  not  attempt ; then,  my  beloved  Mary,  dare  to  be  what 
ou  are,  by  having  the  magnanimity  to  act  as  you  know  you 
ught — by  offering  your  hand  to  him.  Show  the  noble  Sobieski 
latyou  really  deserve  the  devotion  of  a hero’s  heart — deserves 
I d be  his  consolation,  who,  in  losing  his  mother,  lost  an  angel 
ke  yourself.” 

“ Dear  Pembroke,”  replied  Miss  Beaufort,  wiping  the  glid- 
ig  tears  from  her  burning  cheek,  “ after  the  confession  which 
rou  drew  from  me  yesterday,  I will  not  deny  that  to  be  this  to 
I Dur  friend  would  render  me  the  happiest  of  created  beings ; 
ut  I cannot  believe  what  your  sanguine  affection  tells  me.  I 
! innot  suppose,  situated  as  I was  at  Lady  Dundas’s,  surrounded 
j y frivolous  and  contemptible  society,  that  he  could  discover 
j lything  in  me  to  warrant  such  a vanity.  Every  way  embar- 
issed  as  I was,  disliking  my  companions,  afraid  of  my  own 
iterest  in  him,  a veil  was  drawn  over  my  mind,  through  whicli 
2 could  neither  judge  of  my  good  nor  bad  qualities.  How 
len,  can  I flatter  myself,  or  do  the  Count  Sobieski  so  great  ar 
i jury,  as  to  imagine  that  he  could  conceive  any  preference  foi 
) insignificant  a being  as  I must  have  appeared  ? ” 

It  was  some  time  before  Pembroke  could  shake  this  prepos 
jission  of  a sincere  humility  from  Miss  Beaufort’s  mind.  Bu 
j ter  having  set  in  every  possible  light  the  terms  with  which  hii 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A IV, 


friend  had  spoken  of  her,  he  at  length  convinced  her  of  what 
her  heart  so  earnestly  wished  to  believe — that  the  love  of  So- 
bieski  was  indeed  hers. 

Mr.  Somerset’s  next  achievement  was  to  overcome  her 
scruples  against  sanctioning  him  with  the  commission  he  was 
bent  on  communicating  to  Thaddeus.  But  from  the  continual 
recurrence  of  her  apprehensions,  that  the  warm  affection  of 
her  cousin  had  too  highly  colored  the  first  part  of  his  represen- 
tation, this  latter  task  was  not  more  easy  to  accomplish  than 
the  former. 

In  vain  she  remonstrated,  in  vain  she  doubted,  in  vain  de- 
murred. Pembroke  would  not  be  denied.  He  saw  her  heart 
was  with  him  ; and  when  with  faltering  lips  she  assented  to 
the  permission,  which  he  almost  extorted,  she  threw  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  and  implored  him,  ‘‘by  all  he  loved  and  hon- 
ored, to  be  careful  of  her  peace ; to  remember  that  she  put 
into  his  charge  all  that  was  most  precious  to  woman — the 
modesty  of  her  sex  and  h^r  own  self-esteem  ! ” 

Delighted  at  this  consent,  notwithstanding  he  received  it 
through  the  medium  of  many  tears,  he  fondly  and  gratefully 
pressed  her  to  his  bosom,  uttering  his  own  soul’s  fervent  con 
viction  of  a future  domestic  happiness  to  them  all.  Having 
stood  till  he  saw  her  re-enter  the  house  from  a door  on  the 
terrace,  he  mounted  his  horse  and  set  off  on  the  spur  towards 
Harrowby  Hill. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

LETTERS  OF  FAREWELL. 

When  Thaddeus  recovered  from  the  reverie  into  which  ht 
fell  on  the  departure  of  Mr.  Somerset,  he  considered  how  h< 
might  remove  out  of  a country  in  which  he  had  only  met  witl 
and  occasioned  distress. 

The  horrid  price  that  Pembroke’s  father  had  set  on  th< 
continuance  of  his  son’s  friendship  with  a powerless  exile  wa 
his  curse.  Whatever  might  have  been  the  injury  any  individua 
of  now  annihilated  Poland  could,  in  its  palmy  days  of  indepen 
dence,  and  sometimes  pride,  inflict  on  this  implacable  English 
man,  of  a nature  that  appeared  to  have  blinded  him  to  eyei 
human  feeling,  Thaddeus  felt  so  true  an  indignation  agains 
such  cruel  injustice,  and  so  much  of  a contrary  sentimen 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


373 


towards  the  noble  son  of  this  hard  parent,  that  he  determined 
;o  at  once  relieve  the  warring  mind  of  Pembroke  of  any  further 
conflict  on  his  account  by  immediately  quitting  England. 
Inverse  to  a second  interview  with  a friend  so  justly  beloved, 
^vhich  could  only  produce  them  new  pangs,  he  resolved  on 
Mistant  preparations — that  another  morn  should  not  rise  upon 
Ihim  in  the  neighborhood  of  Somerset  Castle.  Taking  up  a 
•Den,  with  all  the  renewed  loneliness  of  his  fate  brooding  on 
ms  heart,  he  wrote  two  letters. 

One  he  addressed  to  Mr.  Somerset,  bidding  him  that  fare- 
well which  he  confessed  he  could  never  take.  As  he  wrote, 
ibis  hand  trembled,  his  bosom  swelled,  and  he  hastily  shut  his 
^syelids,  to  withhold  his  tears  from  showing  themselves  on  the 
j paper.  His  emotion,  his  grief,  were  driven  back,  were  con- 
■fcealed,  but  the  tenderness  of  his  soul  flowed  over  the  letter. 
iHe  forgave  Pembroke’s  father  for  Pembroke’s  sake  ; and  in 
)Spite  of  their  personal  disunion,  he  vowed  that  no  earthly 
power  should  restrain  his  love  from  following  the  steps  of  his 
friend,  even  into  the  regions  of  eternity.  He  closed  his  mel- 
ancholy epistle  with  informing  Mr.  Somerset  that,  as  he  should 
oquit  not  only  England  directly,  but  Europe,  any  search  after 
jihim  which  his  generous  nature  might  dictate  would  be  in  vain. 

>/  Though  Thaddeus  Sobieski  would  have  disdained  a life  of 
fdependence  on  the  greatest  potentate  of  the  world  ; though  he 
rejected  with  the  same  sincerity  a similar  proposal  from  his 
friend,  and  despised  the  degrading  offer  of  Sir  Robert,  yet  he 
did  not  disparage  his  dignity,  not  infringe  on  the  disinterested 
nature  of  friendship,  when  he  retained  the  money  which  Pem- 
broke had  conveyed  to  him  in  prison.  Thaddeus  never  acted 
but  from  principle.  His  honorable  and  penetrating  mind  knew 
exactly  at  what  point  to  draw  the  tender  thread  of  delicacy — 
the  cord  of  independence.  But  pride  and  independence  w^ere 
I with  him  distinct  terms.  Receiving  assistance  from  a friend 
and  leaning  on  him  wholly  for  support  have  different  meanings. 
^iHe  accepted  the  first  with  gratitude  ; he  would  have  thought 
it  impossible  to  live  and  endure  the  last.  Indeed  Thaddeus 
'would  have  considered  himself  unworthy  to  confer  a benefit  if 
Tie  had  not  known  how  to  receive  one.  But  had  not  Pembroke 
Told  him  ‘The  whole  gift  was  Mary  Beaufort’s?”  And  what 
rwere  his  emotions  then  ? They  were  full  of  an  ineffable  sense 
ot  happiness  inexplicable  to  himself.  Mary  Beaufort  was  the 
3 donor,  and  it  was  bliss  to  have  it  so,  and  to  know  it  was  so. 
■ With  these  impressions  again  throbbing  at  his  heart,  he  began  a 
I short  letter  to  her,  which  he  felt  must  crush  that  heart  forever. 


374 


THADDFMS  OF  WARSAW. 


‘‘To  Miss  Beaufort. 

“ My  faculties  lose  their  power  when  I take  up  my  pen  to 
address,  for  the  first  and  the  last  time,  Miss  Beaufort.  I hardly 
know  what  I would  say — what  I ought  to  say  ; I dare  not  vem 
ture  to  write  all  that  I feel.  But  have  you  not  been  my  bene- 
factress } Did  you  not  assert  my  character  and  give  me  liberty 
when  I was  calumniated  and  in  distress  } Did  you  not  ward 
from  me  the  scorn  of  unpitying  folly  ? Did  you  not  con- 
sole me  with  your  own  compassion  ? You  have  done  all 
this  ; and  surely  you  will  not  despise  the  gratitude  of  a heart 
which  you  have  condescended  to  sooth  and  to  comfort.  At 
least  I cannot  leave  England  forever  without  imploring  bless- 
ings on  the  head  of  Miss  Beaufort,  without  thanking  her  on  my 
knees,  on  which  I am  writing,  for  that  gracious  and  benign 
spirit  which  discovered  a breaking  heart  under  the  mask  of 
serenity,  which  penetrated  through  the  garb  of  poverty  and  de- 
pendence, and  saw  that  the  condemned  Constantine  was  not 
what  he  seemed ! Your  smiles.  Miss  Beaufort,  your  voice 
speaking  commiseration,  were  my  sweetest  consolations  during 
those  heavy  months  of  bitterness  which  I endured  at  Dundas 
House.  I contemplated  you  as  a pitying  angel,  sent  to  recon- 
cile me  to  a life  which  had  already  become  a burden.  These 
are  the  benefits  which  Miss  Beaufort  has  bestowed  on  a friend- 
less exile ; these  are  the  benefits  which  she  has  bestowed  on 
me  ! and  they  are  written  on  my  soul.  Not  until  I go  down 
into  the  grave  can  they  be  forgotten.  Ah  ! not  even  then,  for 
when  I rise  again,  I shall  find  them  still  registered  there. 

“ Farewell,  most  respected,  most  dear,  most  honored  ! My 
passing  soul  seems  in  those  words.  O,  may  the  Father  of  heaven 
bless  with  his  almighty  care  her  whose  name  will  ever  be  the 
first  and  the  last  in  the  prayer  of  the  far  distant 

“ Thaddeus  Constantine  Sobieski. 

“Harrowby  Village,  midnight.’^ 

When  he  had  finished  this  epistle,  with  a tremulous  hand 
he  consigned  it  to  the  same  cover  that  contained  his  letter  to 
Somerset.  Then  writing  a few  lines  to  the  worthy  master  of 
the  inn,  (the  brother-in-law  of  the  faithful  servant  of  his  late 
lamented  maternal  friend,)  saying  that  a sudden  occasion  had 
required  his  immediate  departure  at  that  untimely  hour,  he  en- 
closed a liberal  compensation  in  gold  for  the  attentive  services 
of  both  the  honest  man  and  his  warm-hearted  wife.  Having 


TJIADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


375 

sealed  each  packet,  he  disposed  them  so  on  the  table  that  they 
might  be  the  first  things  seen  on  entering  the  room. 

He  had  fixed  on  deep  night  as  the  securest  time  for  com- 
mencing unobserved  his  pedestrian  tour.  The  moon  was  now 
full,  and  would  be  a sufficient  guide,  he  thought,  on  his  solitary 
way.  He  had  determined  to  walk  to  London  by  the  least 
public  paths ; meaning  to  see  kind  Mrs.  Robson,  and  bid  her 
a grateful  farewell  before  he  should  embark,  probably  never 
to  return,  for  America. 

He  had  prepared  his  slender  baggage  before  he  sat  down 
to  write  the  two  letters  which  had  cost  him  so  many  pangs  ; 
compressed  within  a light  black  leather  travelling-bag,  he  fas- 
tened it  over  his  shoulders  by  its  buckled  straps,  in  the  manner 
of  a soldier’s  knapsack.  He  then  put  the  memorandum-book 
which  contained  his  “ world’s  wealth,”  now  to  be  carefully 
husbanded,  into  a concealed  pocket  in  the  breast  of  his  waist- 
coat, feeling,  while  he  pressed  it  down  upon  his  heart,  that  his 
mother’s  locket  and  Miss  Beaufort’s  chain  kept  guard  over  it. 

‘‘  Ah  ! ” cried  he,  as  he  gently  closed  the  low  window  by 
which  he  leaped  into  the  garden  : ‘‘  England,  I leave  thee  for- 
ever, and  within  thee  all  that  on  this  earth  had  been  left  to  me 
to  love.  Driven  from  thee  ! Nay,  driven  as  if  I were  another 
Cain,  from  the  face  of  every  spot  of  earth  that  ever  had  been 
or  would  be  dear  to  me  ! Oh,  woe  to  them  who  began  the 
course.  And  thou,  Austria,  ungrateful  leader  in  the  destruction 
of  the  country  which  more  than  once  was  thy  preserver  ! — 
could  there  be  any  marvel  that  the  last  of  the*Sobieskis  should 
perish  with  her  ? What  accumulated  sins  must  rest  on  thy 
head,  thou  seducer  of  other  nations  into  the  spoliation  and 
dismemberment  of  the  long-proved  bulwark  of  Christendom  ? 
Assuredly,  every  hasty  sigh  that  rebels  in  the  breasts  of  Poland’s 
outcast  sons  against  the  mystery  of  her  doom  will  plead  against 
thee  at  the  judgment-seat  of  Heaven  ! ” 

He  went  on  at  a rapid  pace  through  several  fields,  his  heart 
and  soul  full  of  those  remembrances,  and  the  direful  echoes  to 
them  he  had  met  in  England.  Stopping  a moment  at  the  boun- 
dary-gate  of  the  Harrowby  domains, — the  property  of  a disgrace- 
.ful  owner  of  a name -that  might  have  been  his,  had  not  his 
nobler  mother  preserved  to  him  that  of  Sobieski, — he  stretched 
out  his  arms  to  the  heavens,  over  which  a bleak  north-west  wind 
was  suddenly  collecting  dark  and  spreading  clouds,  and  ex- 
claimed, in  earnest  supplication,  “ Oh,  righteous  Power  of 
Mercy ! in  thy  chastening,  grant  me  fortitude  to  bear  with  re 
signation  to  thy  will  the  miseries  I may  yet  have  to  encounter 


7V/ADDEUS  OF  IVARSAIV. 


376 

Ah  ! ” added  he,  his  heart  melting  as  the  images  presented 
themselves  even  as  visions  to  his  soul,  “ teach  me  to  forget  what 
I have  been.  Teach  me  to  forget  that  on  this  dreadful  Oc- 
tober night  twelve  months  ago  I clasped  the  dying  body  of  my 
revered  grandfather  in  these  arms  ! ” 

He  could  not  speak  further.  Leaning  his  pale  face  against 
the  gate,  he  remained  for  a few  minutes  dissolved  in  all  a 
son’s  sorrow ; then,  recovering  himself  by  a sudden  start,  he 
proceeded  with  hurried  steps  through  the  further  extending 
meadows  until  they  conducted  him  by  a short  village-lane  into 
the  high  road. 

It  was  on  the  loth  of  October,  1795,  that  the  Count  Sobieski 
commenced  this  lonely  and  melancholy  journey.  It  was  the 
loth  of  October  in  the  preceding  year  that  he  found  the  veteran 
palatine  bleeding  to  death  in  the  midst  of  a heap  of  slain.  The 
coincidence  of  his  renewed  banishment  and  present  consequent 
mental  sufferings  with  those  of  that  fatal  period  powerfully  af- 
fected him,  recalling,  in  the  vivid  colors  of  an  actual  existence, 
scenes  and  griefs  which  the  numerous  successive  events  he  had 
passed  through  had  considerably  toned  down  into  dream-like 
shades. 

But  now,  when  memory,  by  one  unexpected  stroke,  had  once 
conjured  up  the  happy  past  of  his  early  life  and  its  as  early 
blighting,  true  to  her  nature,  she  raised  before  his  mind’s  eye 
every  hope  connected  with  it  and  his  present  doom,  till,  almost 
distracted,  he  quickened  his  speed.  He  then  slackened  it ; he 
quickened  it  agaifi ; but  nothing  could  rid  him  of  those  succes- 
sive images  which  seem  to  glide  around  him  like  mournful  ap- 
paritions of  the  long-lamented  dead. 

When  the  dawn  broke  and  the  sun  rose,  he  found  himself 
advanced  several  miles  on  the  south  side  of  Ponton  Hill.  The 
spiry  aisles  of  Harrowby  Abbey  were  discernible  through  the 
mist,  and  the  towers  of  Somerset  Castle,  from  their  height  and 
situation,  were  as  distinctly  seen  as  if  he  had  been  at  their 
base.  Neither  of  these  objects  were  calculated  to  raise  the 
spirits  of  Thaddeus.  The  sorrows  of  the  countess,  whose  eyes 
he  so  recently  had  closed,  and  the  treatment  which  he  afterwards 
received  from  the  man  to  whom  he  owed  his  life,  were  recollec- 
tions which  made  him  turn  from  the  Abbey  with  a renewed  pang 
and  fix  his  eyes  on  Somerset.  He  looked  towards  its  ivied 
battlements  with  all  the  regret  and  all  the  tenderness  which  can 
overflow  a human  heart.  Under  that  roof  he  believed  the  eyes 
of  his  almost,  indeed,  worshipped  Mary  were  sealed  in  sleep  ^ 
and  in  an  instant  his  agitated  soul  addressed  her  as  if  she  had 
been  present. 


THADDEUS  OF  JVARSAIV. 


377 


Farewell,  most  lovely,  most  beloved ! The  conviction 
that  it  is  to  ensure  the  peace  of  my  now  only  friend  on  earth,  my 
faithful  Pembroke,  that  I resign  the  hope  of  ever  beholding 
thee  again  in  this  life,  will  bring  me  one  comfort,  at  least,  in  my 
' barren  exile  ! ” 

Thus  communing  with  his  troubled  spirit,  he  walked  the 
KFole  day  on  his  way  to  London.  Totally  absorbed  in  medita- 
lion,  he  did  not  remark  the  gaze  of  curiosity  which  followed 
his  elegant  yet  distressed  figure  as  he  passed  through  the 
different  towns  and  villages.  Musing  on  the  past,  the  present, 
and  the  future,  he  neither  felt  hunger  nor  thirst,  but,  with  a 
fixed  eye  and  abstracted  countenance,  pursued  his  route  until 
night  and  weariness  overtook  him  near  a cross-road,  far  away 
from  any  house. 

Thaddeus  looked  around  and  above.  The  sky  was  then 
clear  and  glittering  with  stars  ; the  moon,  shining  on  a branch 
of  the  Ouse  which  divides  Leicestershire  from  Northampton- 
shire, lit  the  green  heath  which  skirted  its  banks.  He  wished 
not  for  a more  magnificent  canopy  ; and  placing  his  bag  under 
his  head,  he  laid  himself  down  beneath  a hillock  of  furze,  and 
slept  till  morning. 

When  he  awoke  from  a heavy  sleep,  which  fatigue  and  fast- 
ing had  rendered  more  oppressive  than  refreshing,  he  found 
that  the  splendors  of  the  night  were  succeeded  by  a heavy  rain, 
and  that  he  was  wet  through.  He  arose  with  stiffness  in  his 
limbs,  pain  in  his  head,  and  a dimness  over  his  eyes,  with  a 
sense  of  weakness  which  almost  disabled  lum  from  moving. 
He  readily  judged  that  he  had  caught  cold;  and  every  moment 
feeling  himself  grow  worse,  he  thought  it  necessary  to  seek 
some  house  where  he  might  procure  rest  and  assistance. 

Leaning  on  his  closed  umbrella,  which,  in  his  precarious 
circumstances  of  travelling,  he  used  in  preference  to  a walking- 
stick,  and  no  longer  able  to  encumber  himself  with  even  the 
light  load  of  his  bag,  he  cast  it  amongst  the  brambles  near  him. 
Thinking,  from  the  symptoms  he  felt,  that  he  might  not  have 
many  more  hours  to  endure  the  ills  of  life,  he  staggered  a few 
I yards  further.  No  habitation  appeared  ; his  eyes  soon  seemed 
totally  obscured,  and  he  sunk  down  on  a bank.  For  a minute 
he  attempted  to  struggle  with  the  cold  grasp  of  death,  which  he 
believed  was  fastening  on  his  heart. 

‘‘  And  are  my  days  to  be  so  short  ? — are  they  to  end  thus  ? 
i was  the  voice  of  his  thoughts, — for  he  was  speechless.  “ Oh  ! 
j thou  merciful  Providence,  pardon  my  repining,  and  those  who 
I have  brought  me  to  this ! My  only  Father,  hear  me  ! ” 


THABDEUS  OF  WAESAW, 


37S 


These  were  the  last  movements  of  his  soundless  lips,  whilst 
his  blood  seemed  freezing  to  insensibility.  His  eyelids  were 
closed,  and  pale,  and  without  sign  of  animation,  he  lay  at  the 
foot  of  a tree  nigh  which  he  had  dropped. 

He  remained  a quarter  of  an  hour  in  this  dead-like  state 
before  he  was  observed  ; at  length,  a gentleman  who  was  pass- 
ing along  that  road,  on  his  way  to  his  country-seat  in  the 
neighborhood,  thought  he  perceived  a man  lying  amongst  the 
high  grass  a little  onward  on  the  heath.  He  stopped  his  car- 
riage instantly,  though  driven  by  four  spirited  horses,  and 
ordering  one  of  the  outriders  to  alight,  bade  him  examine 
whether  the  object  in  view  were  living  or  dead. 

The  servant  obeyed  ; and  presently  returning  with  an 
affrighted  countenance,  he  informed  his  master  that  ‘‘  it  was  the 
body  of  a young  man,  who,  by  his  dress,  appeared  to  be  a gen- 
tleman ; and  being  quite  senseless,  he  supposed  he  had  been 
waylaid  and  murdered  by  footpads.’’  The  features  of  the  ben- 
evolent inquirer  immediately  reflected  the  alarm  of  his  infor- 
mant. Ordering  the  chariot  door  to  be  opened,  he  took  in  his, 
hand  a bottle  of  medicine,  (which,  from  his  own  invalid  states 
was  his  carriage  companion,)  and,  stepping  out,  hastened  to  the 
side  of  the  apparently  lifeless  Thaddeus. 

By  this  time  all  the  servants  were  collected  round  the  spot. 
The  master  himself,  whilst  he  gazed  with  pity  on  the  marble 
features  of  the  stranger,  observed  with  pleasure  that  he  saw  no 
marks  of  violence.  Supposing  that  the  present  accident  might 
have  been  occasioned  by  a fit,  and  thinking  it  possible  to  recall 
life,  he  desired  that  the  unfortunate  person’s  neck-cloth  might 
be  unloosened,  and  removing  his  hat,  he  contrived  to  pour  some 
drops  into  his  mouth.  Their  warmth  renewed  pulsation  to  the 
heart,  for  one  of  the  men,  who  was  stooping,  declared  that  it 
beat  under  his  hand.  When  the  benevolent  gentleman  was 
satisfied  of  the  truth  of  this  report,  he  bade  his  servants  place 
the  poor  traveller  in  his  carriage  j having  only  another  mile  or 
two  to  go,  he  said  he  hoped  his  charge  might  be  restored  at 
the  end  of  so  short  a drive. 

Whilst  the  postilions  drove  rapidly  towards  the  house,  the 
cold  face  of  Thaddeus  rested  on  the  bosom  of  his  benefactor, 
who  continued  to  chafe  his  temples  with  eau  de  Cologne  until 
the  chariot  stopped  before  the  gates.  The  men  carried  the 
count  into  the  house,  and  leaving  him  with  their  master  and  a 
medical  man,  who  resided  near,  other  restoratives  were  applied 
which  in  a short  time  restored  him  to  consciousness.  When 
he  was  recalled  to  recollection,  and  able  to  distinguish  objects, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  IV. 


379 

he  saw  that  he  was  supported  by  two  gentlemen,  and  in  a 
spacious  chamber. 

Gratitude  was  an  active  virtue  in  the  soul  of  Thaddeus.  At 
the  moment  of  his  awakening  from  that  sleep  which,  when  it 
fell  upon  him,  he  believed  would  last  until  time  should  be  lost 
in  eternity,  he  pressed  the  hands  of  those  who  held  his  own, 
not  doubting  but  that  they  were  the  good  Samaritans  who  had 
preserved  him  from  perishing. 

The  younger  of  the  gentlemen,  perceiving,  by  the  animated 
lustre  which  spread  over  his  patient’s  eyes,  that  he  was  going  to 
speak,  put  his  hand  on  his  lips,  and  said,  “ Pardon  me,  sir ! 
you  must  be  mute  ! Your  life  at  present  hangs  on  a thread  ; 
the  slightest  exertion  might  snap  it.  As  all  you  want  is  rest 
and  resuscitation  to  supply  some  great  loss  which  the  vital 
powers  have  sustained,  I must  require  that  you  neither  speak 
nor  be  spoken  to  until  I give  permission.  Meanwhile,  be  sat- 
isfied, sir,  that  you  are  in  the  kindest  hands.  This  gentleman,” 
added  he,  (pointing  to  his  friend,  who  bore  the  noble  presence 
of  high  rank,)  saw  you  on  the  heath,  and  brought  you  to  his 
house,  where  you  now  are.” 

Thaddeus  bowed  his  head  to  them  both  in  sign  of  obedience 
and  gratitude,  and  the  elder,  with  a kind  bend  of  his  mild  eyes, 
in  silence  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

DEERHURST. 

Next  morning,  when  the  seal  was  taken  off  the  lips  of  the 
object  of  their  care,  he  expressed  in  grateful  terms  his  deep 
sense  of  the  humanity  which  had  actuated  both  the  gentleman  to 
take  so  generous  an  interest  in  his  fate. 

‘‘  You  owe  no  thanks  to  me,”  replied  the  one  who  had  en- 
joined and  released  him  from  silence,  and  who  was  now  alone 
with  him  ; I am  only  the  agent  of  another.  Yet  I do  not 
deny  that,  in  obeying  the  benevolent  orders  of  Sir  Robert 
Somerset,  I have  frequent  opportunities  of  gratifying  my  own 
heart.” 

Thaddeus  was  so  confounded  at  this  discovery  that  he  could 
not  speak,  and  the  gentleman  proceeded. 

‘‘  I am  apothecary  to  Sir  Robert’s  household,  and  as  my 


THAD DEC/S  OF  WARSAW. 


380 

excellent  employer  has  been  long  afflicted  with  an  ill  state  of 
health,  I live  in  a small  Lodge  at  the  other  end  of  the  park. 
He  is  the  boast  of  the  county:  the  best  landlord  and  the 
kindest  neighbor.  All  ranks  of  people  love  him  ; and  when  he 
dies,  (which  his  late  apoplectic  fits  make  it  too  probable  may 
be  soon,)  both  poor  and  rich  will  lose  their  friend.  Ill  as  he 
was  this  morning,  when  I told  him  you  were  out  of  danger,  he 
expressed  a pleasure  which  did  him  more  good  than  all  my 
medicines.” 

Not  considering  the  wildness  of  the  question,  Thaddeus 
hastily  demanded,  Does  he  know  who  I am  ? ” 

The  honest  apothecary  stared  at  the  look  and  tone  with 
which  these  words  were  delivered,  and  then  replied,  No,  sir ; 
is  there  any  reason  to  make  you  wish  that  he  should  not  ? ” 

“ Certainly  none,”  replied  Thaddeus,  recollecting  himself ; 
but  I shall  be  impatient  until  I have  an  opportunity  of  tell 
ing  him  how  grateful  I am  for  the  goodness  he  has  shown  to 
me  as  a stranger.” 

Surprised  at  these  hints,  (which  the  count,  not  considering 
their  tendency,  allowed  to  escape  him,)  the  apothecary  gathered 
sufficient  from  them,  united  with  the  speaker’s  superior  mien, 
to  make  him  suppose  that  his  patient  was  some  emigrant  of 
quality,  whom  Sir  Robert  would  rejoice  in  having  served. 
These  surmises  and  conclusions  having  passed  quickly  through 
the  worthy  gentleman’s  brain,  he  bowed  his  head  with  that  re- 
spect which  the  generous  mind  is  proud  to  pay  to  nobility  in 
ruins,  and  resumed  : 

“ Whoever  you  may  be,  sir,  a peasant  or  a prince,  you  will 
meet  with  British  hospitality  from  the  noble  owner  of  this 
mansion.  The  magnificence  of  his  spirit  is  equalled  by  the 
goodness  of  his  heart ; and  I am  certain  that  Sir  Robert  will 
consider  as  fortunate  the  severe  attack  which,  bringing  him 
from  Somerset  for  change  of  air,  has  afforded  him  an  oppor 
tunity  of  serving  you.” 

Thaddeus  blushed  at  the  strain  of  this  speech.  Readily 
understanding  what  was  passing  in  the  mind  of  the  apothecary, 
he  hardly  knew  what  to  reply.  He  paused  for  a moment,  and 
then  said,  All  you  have  declared,  sir,  in  praise  of  Sir  Robert 
Somerset  I cannot  doubt  is  deserving.  I have  already  felt  the 
effects  of  his  humanity,  and  shall  ever  remember  that  my  life  was 
prolonged  by  his  means  ; but  I have  no  pretensions  to  the  honor 
of  his  acquaintance.  I only  wish  to  see  him,  that  I may  thank 
him  for  what  he  has  done  ; therefore,  if  you  will  permit  me  to  rise 
this  evening,  instead  of  to-morrow  morning,  you  will  oblige  me,” 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  381 

To  this  request  the  apothecary  gave  a respectful  yet  firm 
denial,  and  went  down  stairs  to  communicate  his  observations 
to  his  patron.  When  he  returned,  he  brought  back  a request 
to  his  patient  from  the  baronet,  even  as  a personal  considera- 
tion for  his  host’s  solicitude  concerning  him,  to  remain  quietly 
in  the  perfect  repose  of  his  closed  chamber  until  next  day  ; 
then  it  might  be  hoped  Sir  Robert  would  find  him  sufficiently 
recovered  to  receive  his  visit  without  risk.  To  this  Sobieski 
could  not  but  assent,  in  common  courtesy,  as  well  as  in  grate- 
ful feeling ; yet  he  passed  in  anything  but  repose  the  rest  of 
the  day,  and  the  anxiety  which  continued  to  agitate  him  while 
reflecting  that  he  was  receiving  these  obligations  from  his 
implacable  enemy  so  occupied  and  disturbed  him,  that  he 
spent  a sleepless  night.  The  dawn  found  his  fever  much 
augmented  ; but  no  corporeal  sufferings  could  persuade  him 
to  defer  seeing  the  baronet  and  immediately  leaving  his 
house.  Believing,  as  he  did,  that  ■ all  this  kindness  would 
have  been  withheld  had  his  host  known  on  whom  he  was 
pouring  such  benefits,  he  thought  that  every  minute  which 
passed  over  him  while  under  Sir  Robert’s  roof  inflicted  a new 
outrage  on  his  own  respect  and  honor. 

To  this  end,  then,  as  soon  as  Mr.  Middleton,  the  apothe- 
cary, retired  to  breakfast,  Thaddeus  rose  from  his  bed,  and 
was  completely  dressed  before  he  returned.  He  had  effected 
this  without  any  assistance,  for  he  was  in  possession  of  his 
travelling-bag.  One  of  the  outriders  having  discerned  it 
amongst  the  herbage,  while  the  others  were  busied  in  carrying 
its  helpless  owner  to  the  carriage,  he  had  picked  it  up,  and  on 
the  arrival  of  the  party  at  home,  delivered  it  to  the  baronet’s 
valet  to  convey  to  the  invalid  gentleman’s  chamber,  justly  con- 
sidering that  he  would  require  its  contents. 

When  Mr.  Middleton  re-entered  the  apartment,  and  saw 
his  patient  not  only  risen  from  his  bed,  but  so  completely 
dressed,  he  expostulated  on  the  rashness  of  what  he  had  done, 
and  augured  no  less  than  a dangerous  relapse  from  the  pres- 
ent increased  state  of  his  pulse.  Thaddeus,  for  once  in  his 
life,  was  obstinate,  though  civilly  so  ; and  desiring  a servant 
to  request  that  Sir  Robert  would  indulge  him  with  an  audience 
for  a few  minutes  alone  in  his  library,  he  soon  convinced  Mr. 
Middleton  that  his  purpose  was  not  to  be  shaken. 

The  baronet  returning  his  compliments,  and  saying  that  he 
should  be  happy  to  see  his  guest,  the  still  anxious  apothecary 
offered  him  his  assistance  down  stairs.  Thaddeus  needed  no 
help,  and  gratefully  declined  it.  The  exertion  necessary  to  be 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


3S2 

summoned  for  this  interview  imparted  as  much  momentary 
strength  to  his  frame  as  to  his  mind,  and  though  his  color  was 
heightened,  he  entered  the  library  with  a firm  step. 

Sir  Robert  met  him  at  the  door,  and,  shaking  him  by  the 
hand  with  a warm  assurance  of  pleasure  at  so  rapid  a restora- 
tion, would  have  led  him  to  a seat ; but  Thaddeus  only  sup- 
ported himself  against  the  back  of  it  with  his  hand,  whilst  in  a 
steady  voice  he  expressed  the  most  earnest  thanks  for  the  bene- 
fits he  had  received ; then  pausing,  and  casting  the  proud  lus- 
tre  of  his  eyes  to  the  ground,  lest  their  language  should  tell  all 
that  he  thought,  he  continued,  “ I have  only  to  regret.  Sir 
Robert,  that  your  benevolence  has  been  lavished  on  a man 
whom  you  regard  'with  abhorrence.  I am  the  Count  Sobieski, 
that  Polander  whom  you  commanded  your  son  to  see  no  more. 
Respecting  even  the  prejudices  of  my  friend’s  parent,  I was 
hastening  to  London,  meaning  to  set  sail  for  America  with  the 
first  ship,  when  I swooned  on  the  road.  I believe  I was  ex- 
piring. Your  humanity  saved  me  ; and  I now  owe  to  gratitude, 
as  well  as  to  my  own  satisfaction,  the  fulfilment  of  my  deter- 
mination. I shall  leave  Deerhurst  immediately,  and  England 
as  soon  as  I am  able  to  embark.” 

Thaddeus  with  a second  bow,  and  not  quite  so  firm  a step, 
without  venturing  a glance  at  what  he  supposed  must  be  the 
abashed  or  the  enraged  looks  of  Pembroke’s  father,  was  pre- 
paring to  quit  the  room,  when  Sir  Robert,  with  a pale  and 
ghastly  countenance,  exclaimed,  “ Stop  ! ” 

Thaddeus  looked  round,  and  struck  by  the  change  in  his 
preserver’s  appearance,  paused  in  his  movement.  The  baronet, 
incapable  of  saying  more,  pointed  to  a chair  for  him  to  sit 
down  ; then  sinking  into  another  himself,  took  out  his  hand- 
kerchief, and  wiping  away  the  large  drops  which  stood  on  his 
forehead,  panted  for  respiration.  At  last,  with  a desperate 
kind  of  haste,  he  said. 

“ Was  your  mother  indeed  Therese  Sobieski  ? ” 

Thaddeus,  still  more  astonished,  replied  in  the  affirmative. 
Sir  Robert  threw  himself  back  on  the  chair  with  a deep  groan. 
Hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  the  count  rose  from  his  seat  and 
advanced  towards  him.  On  his  approach.  Sir  Robert  stretched 
out  his  hand,  and,  with  a look  and  tone  of  agony,  said,  “ Who 
was  your  father  ? ” He  then,  without  waiting  for  a reply, 
covered  his  convulsed  features  with  his  handkerchief.  The 
baronet’s  agitation,  which  now  shook  him  -l  ie  an  earthquake, 
became  contagious.  Thaddeus  gazed  at  him  with  a palsying 
uncertainty  in  his  heart ; laying  his  hand  on  his  bewildered 


TBADDEUS  OF  IVAFSAIV. 


383 

brain,  he  answered,  I know  not ; yet  I fear  I must  believe 
him' to  be  the  Earl  of  Tinemouth.  But  here  is  his  picture.” 
With  an  almost  disabling  tremor  he  unclasped  it  from  his  neck 
where  his  mother’s  last  blessing  had  placed  it,  and  touching 
the  spring  which  held  it  in  its  little  gold  case  in  the  manner  of 
a watch,  he  gave  it  open  to  Sir  Robert,  who  bad  started  from 
his  seat  at  the  name  of  the  earl.  The  moment  the  baronet’s 
eyes  rested  on  the  miniature,  he  fell  senseless  upon  the  chair. 

Thaddeus,  hardly  more  alive,  sprinkled  some  water  on  his 
face,  and  with  throbbing  temples  and  a bleeding  heart  stood 
in  wordless  expectation  over  him.  Such  excessive  emotion 
told  him  that  something  more  than  Sir  Robert’s  hatred  of  the 
Polanders  had  stimulated  his  late  conduct.  Too  earnest  for 
an  explanation  to  ring  for  assistance,  he  rejoiced  to  see,  by  the 
convulsion  of  the  baronet’s  features  and  the  heaving  of  his 
chest,  that  animation  was  returning.  In  a few  minutes  he 
opened  his  eyes,  but  when  he  met  the  anxious  gaze  of  Thad- 
deus, he  closed  them  as  suddenly.  Rising  from  his  seat,  he 
staggered  against  the  chimney-piece,  exclaiming,  Oh  God, 
direct  me  ! ” 

Thaddeus,  whose  conjectures  were  now  wrought  almost  to 
wildness,  followed  him,  and  whilst  his  exhausted  frame  was 
ready  to  sink  to  the  earth,  he  implored  him  to  speak. 

Sir  Robert,”  cried  he,  “ if  you  know  anything  of  my 
family,  if  you  know  anything  of  my  father,  I beseech  you  to 
answer  me.  Or  only  tell  me  : am  I so  wretched  as  to  be  the 
son  of  Lord  Tinemouth  ? ” 

The  violence  of  the  count’s  emotions  during  this  agonizing 
address  totally  overcame  him  ; before  he  finished  speaking,  his 
limbs  withdrew  their  support,  and  he  dropped  breathless  against 
the  side  of  the  chair. 

Sir  Robert  turned  hastily  round.  He  saw  him  sunk,  like  a 
beautiful  flower,  bruised  and  trampled  on  by  the  foot  of  him 
who  had  given  it  root.  Unable  to  make  any  evasive  reply  to 
this  last  appeal  of  virtue  and  of  nature,  he  threw  himself  with  a 
burst  of  tears  upon  his  neck,  and  exclaimed,  ‘‘Wretch  that  I 
have  been  ! Oh,  Sobieski ! I am  thy  father.  Dear,  injured  son 
of  the  too  faithful  Therese  ! ” 

The  first  words  which  carried  this  avowal  to  the  heart  of 
Thaddeus  deprived  it  of  motion,  and  when  Sir  Robert  expected 
to  receive  the  returning  embrace  of  his  son,  he  found  him  sense- 
less in  his  arms. 

The  cries  of  the  baronet  brought  Mr.  Middleton  and  the 
servants  into  the  room.  When  the  former  saw  the  state  of  the 


THADDEUS  OF  WAESA IV. 


3^4 

count,  and  perceived  the  agonized  position  of  his  patron,  (who 
was  supporting  and  leaning  over  his  son,)  the  honest  man  de- 
clared that  he  expected  nothing  less  from  the  gentleman’s  dis- 
obedience of  his  orders.  The  presence  of  the  servants  having 
recalled  Sir  Robert’s  wandering  faculties,  he  desired  them  to 
remove  the  invalid  with  the  greatest  care  back  to  his  chamber. 
Following  them  in  silence,  when  they  had  laid  their  charge  on 
the  bed,  he  watched  in  extreme  but  concealed  suspense  till  Mr. 
Middleton  once  more  succeeded  in  restoring  animation  to  his 
patient. 

The  moment  the  count  unclosed  his  eyes,  they  fixed  theim 
selves  on  his  father.  He  drew  the  hand  which  held  his  to  his 
lips.  The  tears  of  paternal  love  again  bathed  the  cheeks  of 
Sir  Robert ; he  felt  how  warm  at  his  heart  was  the  affection  of 
his  deserted  son.  Making  a sign  for  Mr.  Middleton  to  leave 
the  room,  who  obeyed,  he  bent  his  streaming  eyes  upon  the 
other  hand  of  Thaddeus,  and,  in  a faltering  voice,  “ Can  you 
pardon  me  ? ” 

Thaddeus  threw  himself  on  his  father’s  bosom,  and  wept 
profusely  ; then  raising  Sir  Robert’s  clasped  hands  to  his,  whilst 
his  eloquent  eyes  seemed  to  search  the  heavens,  he  said,  My 
dear,  dear  mother  loved  you  to  her  latest  hour ; and  I have  all 
my  mother’s  heart.  Whatever  may  have  been  his  errors,  I love 
and  honor  my  father.” 

Sir  Robert  strained  him  to  his  breast.  After  a pause,  whilst 
he  shook  the  tears  from  his  venerated  cheeks,  he  resumed — 
Certain,  my  dear  son,  that  you  require  repose,  and  assured 
that  you  will  not  find  it  until  I have  offered  some  apology  for 
my  unnatural  conduct,  I will  now  explain  the  circumstances 
which  impelled  my  actions,  and  drew  distress  upon  that  noble 
being,  your  mother.” 

Sir  Robert  hesitated  a moment  to  recover  breath,  and  then, 
with  the  verity  of  a grateful  penitence,  commenced. 

Keep  your  situation,”  added  he,  putting  down  Thaddeus, 
who  at  this  opening  was  raising  himself,  I shall  tell  my  melan- 
choly story  with  less  pain  if  your  eyes  be  not  upon  me.  I will 
begin  from  the  first.” 

The  baronet,  with  frequent  agitated  pauses,  proceeded  to 
relate  what  may  be  more  succinctly  expressed  as  follows  : Very 
early  in  life  he  had  attached  himself  to  Miss  Edith  Beaufort, 
the  only  sister  of  the  late  Admiral  Beaufort,  who  at  that  time 
was  pursuing  his  chosen  brave  career  as  post-captain  in  the 
British  navy.  By  the  successive  deaths  of  their  parents,  they 
had  been  left  young  to  the  guardianship  of  Sir  Ihilke  Somerset 


THADDEUS  OF  IVARSA  JV. 


385 

and  their  maternal  aunt,  his  then  accomplished  lady  : she  and 
their  deceased  mother,  the  Lady  Grace  Beaufort,  having  been 
sisters — the  two  celebrated  beautiful  daughters  of  Robert  Earl 
Studeley  of  Warwick. 

Sir  Fulke’s  family  by  the  amiable  twin  of  the  Lady  Grace 
were  Robert  (who  afterwards  succeeded  him)  and  Dorothy  his 
only  daughter.  But  he  had  a son  by  a former  marriage  with 
the  brilliantly-endowed  widow  of  a long-resident  governor  in  the 
East,  who  having  died  on  his  voyage  home  to  England,  on  her 
landing  she  found  herself  the  sole  inheritrix  of  his  immense 
wealth.  She  possessed  charms  of  person  as  well  as  riches,  and 
as  soon  as  ‘‘  her  weeds”  could  be  laid  aside,  she  became  the 
admired  wife  of  the  “ gay  and  gallant  ” Sir  Fulke  Somerset. 
Within  the  twelve  subsequent  months  she  presented  him  with  a 
son  and  heir,  soon  to  be  her  own  too  ; for  though  she  lived 
three  or  four  years  after  his  birth,  her  health  became  so  delicate 
that  she  never  bore  another  child,  but  gradually  declined,  and 
ultimately  expired  while  apparently  in  a gentle  sleep. 

Sir  Fulke  mourned  his  due  time  “ in  the  customary  suit  of 
solemn  black  but  he  was  a man  of  a lofty  and  social  spirit, 
by  no  means  inclinedto  be  disconsolate,  and  held  “ a fair  help- 
mate” to  be  an  indispensable  appendage  to  his  domestic  state. 
In  this  temper,  (just  before  the  election  of  a new  parliament, 
when  contending  interests  were  running  very  close,)  he  obtained 
the  not  less  eagerly  disputed  hand  of  Lady  Arabella  Studeley, 
whose  elder  sister  (as  has  been  mentioned)  had  made  a magni- 
ficent'marriage,  only  a year  or  two  before,  with  John  of  Beau- 
fort, the  lord  of  the  noble  domain  of  Beaufort  in  the  Weald  of 
Kent — a lineal  endowment  from  his  princely  ancestor,  John  of 
Gaunt.  This  illustrious  pair  dwelt  on  the  land,  like  its  muni- 
ficent owners  in  the  olden  times,  revered  and  beloved  ; and  they 
were  the  parents  of  their  two  equally-honored  representatives — 
Guy,  afterwards  Admiral  Beaufort,  and  Edith,  who  subsequently 
became  the  adored  wife  of  her  also  tenderly-beloved  cousin, 

^ Robert  Somerset. 

But  before  that  fondly-anticipated  event  took  place,  the 
young  lover  had  to  pass  through  a path  of  thorns,  some  of  which 
pierced  him  to  the  end.  From  his  childhood  to  manhood,  he 
saw  little  of  Algernon,  his  elder  brother,  who  always  seemed  to 
him  more  like  an  occasional  brilliantphantom,  alighting  amongst 
them,  than  a dear  member  of  the  family  coming  delightedly  to 
cheer  and  to  share  his  paternal  home.  Algernon  was  either  at 
Eaton  school,  or  at  one  of  the  universities,  or  travelling  some- 
where on  the  continent  i and  at  all  these  places,  or  from  them 


THADDEUS  OF  WAFFA  W. 


386 

all,  he  became  the  enchanted  theme  of  every  tongue.  Mean- 
while, Robert — though,  perhaps,  equally  endowed  by  nature, 
yet  certainly  of  a milder  radiance — was  the  object  of  so  appre- 
hensive a solicitude  in  his  gentle  mother’s  breast  for  the  purity 
as  well  as  the  intellectual  accomplishments  of  her  son,  that  she 
obtained  Sir  Fulke’s  reluctant  consent  to  his  being  brought  up  in 
what  is  called  a home  education  ; ” that  is,  under  the  especial 
personal  care  of  the  best  private  tutors,  and  which  were  found, 
to  the  great  credit  of  her  judgment.  He  showed  an  ardent  de- 
votedness to  his  studies  ; and  though,  like  his  mother,  he  was 
one  of  the  mildest  of  human  beings  in  his  dealings  with  those 
around  him,  yet  his  aspirations  towards  high  attainments  were 
as  energetic  as  they  were  noiseless,  and  ever  on  steady  wing 
soaring  upward.  Robert  Somerset  was  then  unconsciously  form- 
ing himself  for  what  he  afterwards  became — the  boast  of  the 
country  of  his  birth,  the  glory  of  England,  to  whose  prosperity 
he  dedicated  all  his  noble  talents,  showing  what  it  is  to  be  a 
true  English  country  gentleman.  Being  alike  ‘‘  the  oak  or  lau- 
rel ” of  ‘‘  Old  England’s  fields  and  groves,” 

“ With  sickle  or  with  sword, 

Or  bardic  minstrelsy ! 

he  was  permitted  to  pass  a term  or  two  at  Oxford,  where  he 
acquitted  himself  with  honor,  particularly  in  the  classics,  to  the 
repeated  admiration  of  their  then  celebrated  professor,  the  late 
Thomas  Warton.  But  the  young  student  was  also  fond  of 
rural  pursuits  and  domestic  occupations.  He  lived  mostly  at 
home,  enjoying  the  gentle  solace  of  elegant  modern  literature 
and  the  graces  of  music,  with  the  ever  blameless  delights  of  an 
accomplished  female  society,  at  the  head  of  which  his  revered 
mother  had  presided,  accompanied  by  his  lively  sister  Dorothy 
and  the  sweet  Edith  Beaufort,  whom  he  had  gradually  learned 
to  love  like  his  own  soul.  His  heart  became  yet  more  closely 
knit  to  her  when  his  beloved  parent  died,  which  sad  event  oc- 
curred about  a year  after  the  death  of  Edith’s  own  mother,  who 
on  her  widowhood  had  continued  to  live  more  with  her  sister. 
Lady  Arabella  Somerset,  than  at  her  bereaved  home.  Edith’s 
filial  sorrow  was  renewed  in  the  loss  of  her  maternal  aunt,  and  | 
her  tenderest  sympathy  reciprocated  the  tears  of  her  son.  ^ 
Their  hearts  blended  together  in  those  tears,  and  both  felt  that 
“ they  were  comforted.” 

Time  did  not  long  pass  on  before  the  happy  Robert  com-  1 
municated  their  mutual  attachment  to  his  father,  petitioning  for  ; 
his  consent  to  woo  for  the  hand  of  her  whose  heart  he  had  5 


THADDEUS  OF  WAESA IV. 


3S7 


already  gained.  But  the  baronet,  in  some  surprise  at  what  he 
heard,  refused  to  give  his  sanction  to  any  such  premature 
engagement,  first,  on  account  of  the  applicant’s  ‘^extreme  youth  f 
and  second,  being  a younger  scion  of  his  house,”  it  might  not 
be  deemed  well  of  in  the  world  should  he,  the  guardian  of  his 
niece  and  her  splendid  fortune,  show  so  much  haste  to  bestow 
her  on  his  comparatively  portionless  son.  The  baronet,  with 
some  of  his  parliamentary  acumen,  drew  another  comparison, 
which  touched  the  disappointed  lover  with  a feeling  almost  T 
despair.  He  compared  what  he  denominated  his  romantic 
fancies  for  “ woods  and  wilds,”  and  book-worm  pursuits  in  the 
old  crypts  of  the  castle  or  the  college,  with  the  distinguished 
consideration  held  by  his  travelled  brother  in  courts  and  coun- 
cils, whether  abroad  or  at  home,  closing  the  parallel  by  telling 
him  “ to  follow  Algernon’s  example,  and  become  more  like  a 
man  of  some  account  amongst  men  before  he  dared  pretend  to 
to  a hand  of  so  much  importance  as  that  of  the  heiress  of 
Beaufort.” 

Robert  was  standing  silent  and  dismayed,  as  one  struek  by 
a thunder-flash,  when  his  brother  (who  had  been  only  a month 
arrived  from  a long  revisit  to  the  two  Sicilies)  suddenly  entered 
his  father’s  library,  as  Sir  Fulke  had  again  resumed  his  discourse 
with  even  more  severity.  At  sight  of  the  animated  object  of 
his  contracting  eulogy,  he  instantly  described  to  his  new  audi- 
tor what  had  been  mutually  said,  and  referred  the  subject  to 
him. 


Romance,  indeed  ! whether  in  merry  Sherwood,  with  hound 
and  horn,  or  with  gentle  dames  in  bower  and  hall,  you  have 
had  enough  of,  my  brother,”  replied  the  gay-spirited  traveller. 
‘‘  Neither  men  nor  women  like  philandering  after  deer  or  doe, 
or  a lady’s  slipper,  beyond  the  greenwood  season.  So  I say, 
for  the  glory  of  your  manhood  up  and  away  ! Abroad,  abroad  I 
My  father  is  right.  That  is  the  only  ground  for  such  a race 
and  guerdon  as  you  aspire  to.  I admire  your  taste,  and  not 
less  your  ambition,  my  brave  boy.  Do  not  thwart  him,  Sir 
Fulke,”  added  he,  to  the  baronet,  who  began  to  frown  : ‘‘  let 
■ him  enter  the  lists  with  the  boldest  of  us  ; faint  heart  never  won 
fair  lady  ! So,  forward,  Robert  ! and  give  me  another  sweet 
sister  to  love  and  to  cherish  as  I do  our  blithe  little  Dora.” 

At  this  far  from  unwelcome  advice,  Robert  smiled  and 
sighed  ; but  the  smile  swallowed  up  the  sigh,  for  his  soul  kindled 
!'with  hope.  His  father  smiled  also  ; the  cloud  of  astern  author- 
\ ity  had  passed  from  his  brow,  and  before  that  now  perfectly 
I reconciled  party  rose,  it  was  decided  that  Robert  should  make 


THADDJWS  OF  IVARSAIV. 


388 

immediate  preparations  for  commencing  a regulated  course  of 
continental  travels,  the  route  to  be  drawn  out  by  his  brother, 
and  his  expenses  in  the  tour  to  be  liberally  supplied  by  his 
father.  The  length  of  the  probation  was  not  then  thought  on, 
at  least  not  mentioned.  Shortly  afterwards,  when  Robert  has- 
tened from  the  library  to  communicate  what  had  passed  to  the 
beloved  object  of  the  discussion,  he  left  his  father  and  his 
brother  together  to  think  and  to  plan  all  the  rest  for  him. 

But  Edith  Beaufort  wept  when  she  heard  of  the  separation  ; 
her  heart  failed  within  her.  For  since  her  first  coming  under 
the  roof  of  her  guardian  uncle,  she  had.  never  been  without 
seeing  her  brother-like  cousin  beyond  a few  days  or  weeks  at 
most.  He  was  npw  going  to  be  banished  (and,  it  was  asserted, 
for  her  sake  too)  into  far  distant  countries,  and  for  an  indefinite 
period — mouths,  perhaps  years.  And  these  saddening  thoughts 
made  her  weep  afresh,  though  silently;  for  her  full-flowing  tears 
were  soft  and  noiseless,  like  the  heart  from  whence  they  sprung. 
Robert,  with  all  his  now  sanguine  expectations,  sought  to  cheer 
her,  but  in  vain.  She  felt  an  impression,  that  should  he  go, 
they  would  never  meet  again.  But  she  did  not  betray  that 
feeling  to  him  ; yet  the  infection  of  her  despondency,  by  its 
continuance,  so  wrought  on  his  own  consequent  depressed 
spirits,  that  when  his  father  announced  to  him  that  his  absence 
must  be  for  two  or  three  years  at  least,  he  venturedTo  remon- 
strate, beseeching  that  it  might  be  limited  to  the  shorter  term 
of  two  years.  The  baronet  derided  the  pioposal,  with  many 
words  of  contempt  towards  the  urgent  pleader.  Robert  with- 
held from  disclosing  to  the  too  often  hard  mind  of  his  father 
that  the  proposition  he  so  scorned  had  originated  in  the  tender 
bosom  of  Edith  Beaufort,  and  Sir  Fulke’s  sarcasm  fell  so  thick 
on  the  bending  head  of  his  son,  that  at  last  the  insulted  feelings 
of  the  generous  lover  became  so  indignant  at  the  little  confi- 
dence placed  in  the  real  manliness  of  his  character,  which  had 
hitherto  been  found  ever  present  when  actually  called  for,  that 
his  heart  began  to  swell  to  an  almost  uncontrollable  exaspera- 
tion, and  while  struggling  to  master  himself  from  uttering  the 
disrespectful  retort  risen  to  his  lips,  his  brother  again  acciden- 
tally entered  the  room,  and  by  giving  Robert  the  moment  to 
pause,  happily  rescued  his  tottering  duty  from  that  regretful 
offence. 

As  soon  as  Algernon  appeared,  the  baronet  resumed  his 
sarcastic  tone,  in  a rapid  recapitulation  of  Robert’s  retrograde 
request.  Algernon  again  took  up  the  cause  of  his  brother,  and, ' 
with  his  usual  tact,  gained  the  victory,  by  the  dexterous  gayety 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA IV. 


389 

with  which  he  pleaded  for  the  young  noviciate  in  all  the  mat- 
ters for  which  he  was  to  be  sent  so  far  afield  to  learn.  At  last 
the  conference  ended  by  Sir  Fulke  agreeing  to  a proposition 
from  his  eldest  son, — that  the  time  for  this  foreign  tutelage 
might  possibly  expire  within  the  second  year,  should  the  results 
invoked  by  the  ambitious  passion  of  his  youngest  born  be  in 
any  fair  progress  to  fulfilment. 

In  little  more  than  a week  after  this  final  arrangement, 
every  preparation  was  finished  for  the  wildly-contemplated  tour. 
Robert  had  taken  a heart-plighting  adieu  from  his  beloved 
Edith.  But  by  his  father’s  positive  injunction,  there  was  no 
engagement  for  a hereafter  actual  plighting  of  hands  made  be- 
tween them.  Yet  their  eloquent  eyes,  transparent  through  their 
mutual  tears,  vowed  it  to  each  other,  and  with  silent  prayers  for 
his  indeed  early  return,  they  parted. 

When  taking  leave  of  his  father,  and  receiving  his  directions 
relative  to  a correspondence  with  his  family,  permission  was 
peremptorily  denied  him  to  hold  any  with  his  cousin  Edith. 
He  had  learned  enough  lately  to  avoid  all  supplications  to  the 
paternal  quarter,  if  he  would  not  invite  scorn  as  well  as  to  re- 
ceive disappointment.  But  Algernon  whispered  to  him  “ that 
nobody  should  remain  wholly  incognita  to  him  in  that  house 
while  he  dipped  pen  in  any  one  of  the  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  inkhorns  under  its  awful  towers  ! ” Robert  then  bowed 
his  farewell  with  a flushed  cheek  and  grave  respect  to  his 
father,  but  gratefully  separated  from  his  brother  with  a warm 
pressure  of  the  hand.  The  old  household  servants  blessed  him 
as  he  passed  through  the  hall,  and  in  a few  minutes  he  found 
himself  seated  in  the  family  post-chaise  and  four  that  was  to 
convey  him  from  the  home  of  his  youth  and  happy  innocence, 
and,  alas  ! to  return  to  it  “ an  altered  man.” 

When  he  reached  Dover  to  embark,  he  fell  in  with  the 
present  Earl  of  Tinemouth,  then  Mr.  Stanhope,  sent  abroad  on 
a similar  errand  with  himself.  But  Stanhope’s  was  to  forget  a 
mistress — Somerset’s  to  merit  the  one  he  sought.  The  two 
young  men  were  kinsfolk  by  birth,  and  they  now  felt  themselves 
so  in  severing  from  their  parents.  Stanhope  was  in  high  wrath 
against  his,  and  he  soon  rekindled  the  already  excited  mind  of 
Somerset  to  a responsive  demonstration  of  resentment.  They 
determined  to  show  that  they  were  not  such  boys  as  to  sub- 
mit any  further  in  passive  obedience  to  the  stern  authority  dom- 
inating over  them.”  Sir  Fulke’s  particular  charge  against  his 
son  was  a “ womanish  softness,  unworthy  his  loftier  sex  ! ” 
‘‘  Show  him,”  cried  Stanhope,  that  you  have  the  hardihood 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


390 

of  a true  man  by  an  immediate  act  of  independence.  Let  us 
travel  together,  kinsmen  as  we  are,  change  our  names,  and  let 
no  one  in  England  know  anything  about  us  during  our  tour 
except  the  two  dear  women  on  whose  accounts  we  are  thus 
transported ! ’’ 

With  these  views  they  landed  in  France,  gave  themselves 
out  to  be  brothers  (which  a certain  resemblance  in  their  per- 
sons corroborated),  and  called  themselves  Sackville.  Agree- 
ably amused  with  the  novelties  presented  to  them  at  almost 
every  step  of  their  tour  from  gay  Paris  to  sentimental  Italy,  they 
proceeded  pretty  amicably  until  they  reached  Naples.  There 
Mr.  Stanhope  involved  himself  in  an  intrigue  with  the  only 
daughter  of  an  old  British  officer,  who  had  retired  to  that  cli- 
mate for  his  health.  Somerset  remonstrated  on  the  villany  of 
seducing  an  innocent  girl,  when  he  knew  his  heart  and  hand 
were  pledged  to  another.  Stanhope,  enraged  at  finding  a cen- 
sor in  a companion  whom  he  had  considered  to  be  as  head- 
strong as  himself,  ended  the  argument  by  drawing  his  sword, 
and  if  the  servants  of  the  hotel  had  not  interfered,  the  affray 
would  probably  have  terminated  with  one  of  their  lives.  Since 
that  hour  they  never  met.  Mr.  Stanhope  fled  from  his  shame 
and  his  bleeding  friend,  and,  fearful  of  consequences,  took  tem- 
porary refuge  in*  one  of  the  Aonian  Isles,  not  daring  to  proceed 
any  further  against  the  innocence  of  the  poor  officer’s  daughter, 
who  had  been  thus  rescued  from  becoming  his  victim  ! 

When  recovered  from  his  wound,  Robert  Somerset  (by  some 
strange  infatuation  still  retaining  the  name  of  Sackville)  pro- 
ceeded to  Florence,  in  which  interesting  city,  for  works  of  art, 
ancient  and  modern,  and  the  graces  of  classic  society,  deter- 
mining to  stay  some  time,  he  rather  sought  than  repelled  the 
civilities  of  the  inhabitants.  Here  he  became  acquainted  with 
the  palatine,  and  the  lovely  Countess  Therese,  his  daughter. 
Her  beauty  pleased  his  taste  ; her  gentle  virtues  and  exquisite 
accomplishments  affected  both  his  heart  and  mind ; and  he 
often  gazed  on  her  with  tenderness,  when  his  fidelity  to  Edith 
Beaufort  only  meant  him  to  convey  a look  of  grateful  admira- 
tion. The  palatine  honored  England,  and  was  prepared  to 
esteem  her  sons  wherever  he  might  meet  them ; and  very 
soon  he  became  so  attached  to  this  apparently  lonely  young- 
traveller,  that  he  invited  him  to  all  the  excursions  he  and  his 
daughter  made  into  the  adjoining  states,  whether  visiting  them 
by  the  romantic  scenery  of  the  land-roads,  or  coasting  the  beam 
tiful  bays  of  the  sublime  shores  on  either  side  of  those  parts  of 
the  Mediterranean. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


391 


In  the  midst  of  this  intimacy,  as  if  she  were  aware  of  a 
friendship  so  hostile  to  his  cousin’s  love,  he  suddenly  ceased  to 
receive  any  remembrance-messages  from  her  to  him,  in  the  two 
last  letters  from  his  brother, — for  he  had  never  allowed  himself 
to  so  brave  his  father’s  parting  commands  as  to  write  to  her 
himself.  Desperate  with  jealousy  of  some  unknown  object 
supplanting  him,  he  was  on  the  point  of  setting  off  for  home,  to 
judge  with  his  own  eyes,  when  a large  packet  from  England 
was  put  into  his  hands.  On  opening  it  he  found  a letter  from 
Edith,  on  which  his  surprised  and  eager  gaze  had  immediately 
fixed.  Without  looking  on  any  of  the  rest,  he  broke  the  seal, 
and  read,  astounded  by  the  contents,  ‘‘  that  having  for  some 
time  been  led  to  consider  the  probable  consequences  to  him, 
both  from  his  father’s  better  judgment  and  the  ultimate  opinion 
of  the  world,  should  he  and  she  continue  their  pertinacious 
adherence  to  their  childish  attachment,  she  had  tried  to  wean 
both  him  and  herself  from  so  rebellious  a folly  towards  her  re- 
vered guardian,  his  honored  father ; and  trusting  that  the 
gradual  shortening  of  her  cousin-like  messages  to  him,  through 
his  brother’s  letters,  must  have  had  the  effect  intended,  she 
now  had  permission  to  write  one  herself  to  him,  to  con- 
vince him  at  once  of  the  unreasonableness  and  danger  of  all 
such  premature  entanglements.  For,”  she  added,  soon  after 
his  departure,  a journey  to  town  had  taught  her  to  know  her 
own  heart.  She  learned  to  feel  that  it  was  still  at  her  disposal ; 
and  time  did  not  long  pass  after  she  returned  to  the  country 
before,  having  compared  the  object  of  her  awakened  taste  with 
that  of  her  former  delusion,  she  persuaded  her  own  better 
judgment  to  set  a generous  example  to  her  ever-dear  cousin 
Robert,  by  marrying  where  that  judgment  now  pointed.  And 
so,  with  the  full  consent  of  Sir  Fulke  (who  she  well  knew  had 
been  totally  averse  to  her  marriage  with  his  youngest  son),  she 
had  yielded  to  the  long  love  of  his  brother,  which  had  been 
struggling  in  his  manly  bosom  many  agonizing  months  against 
his  persistent  fidelity  to  Robert,  but  whose  sister  she  hoped  to 
shortly  become,  as  his  affectionate  Edith — then  Somerset.” 

Having  read  this  extraordinary  epistle  to  the  end,  so  mon- 
strous in  the  character  of  its  sentiments  and  its  language,  when 
compared  with  all  he  had  hitherto  kpown  of  the  pure  and  sim- 
ple mind  from  which  it  came,  a terrible  revulsion  seized  on  his 
own,  and,  almost  maddened  with  horror  at  every  name  in  that 
letter,  he  foreswore  his  family  forever  ! Hastening,  as  for  one 
drop  of  heaven’s  dew  upon  his  burning  brain,  to  seek  Therese 
Sobieski,  he  found  her  alone,  and  though  without  such  aim 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


392 

when  he  rushed  so  frenzied  into  her  presence,  he  besought  her 
‘‘  to  heal  a miserable  and  broken  heart,  which  could  only  be 
saved  to  endure  any  continuance  of  life  by  an  acknowledgment 
that  she  loved  him  I”  Alas  ! the  avowal  was  too  soon  wrung 
from  that  tender  and  noble  spirit ! and  yielding  to  a paroxysm 
of  a rash  and  blinding  revenge,  he  hurried  her  to  a neighboring 
convent  and  secretly  married  her. 

This  most  unrighteous  act  perpetrated,  he  in  vain  sought 
tranquillity.  He  was  now  stung  within  by  a constant  sense  of 
increasing  guilt.  Before  this  act  he  was  the  injured  party — in- 
jured by  those  in  whom  he  had  confided  his  dearest  earthly 
happiness  ; and  he  could  raise  his  head  in  conscious  truth, 
though  all  his  fondest  hopes  had  been  wrecked  by  their  false- 
hood. But  now  he  was  the  betrayer  of  a young  and  innocent 
heart,  which  had  implicitly  trusted  in  him.  And  he  had  insulted 
with  a base  and  treacherous  ingratitude,  by  that  act  of  deceit, 
without  excuse,  the  honor  of  her  father,  whose  generous  con- 
fidence had  also  been  implicitly  placed  in  him.  But  the  effects 
of  these  scorpion  reproaches  in  his  bosom  were  not  less  de- 
structive of  her  peace  than  of  his  own.  He  saw  that  his 
wedded  Therese  was  unweariedly  anxious  to  soothe  the  mysteri- 
ous wanderings  of  his  mind  with  her  softest  tenderness.  ‘But  his 
thoughts  were,  indeed,  far  from  her,  ever  hovering  over  the 
changed  image  of  his  so  lately  adored  Edith — ever  agonizing 
over  the  lightness  of  a conduct  so  unlike  her  former  virgin  deli- 
cacy, so  unlike  the  clinging  vows  she  breathed  to  him  in  their 
hour  of  boding  separation  ! — ever  execrating  the  perfidy  of  his 
brother,  which  had  brought  on  him  this  distracting  load  of 
guilt  and  woe  ! 

In  this  temper  of  alienation  from  all  the  world,  a second 
packet  from  England  was  put  into  his  hand.  Again  he  saw 
Edith’s  writing ; but  he  dropped  it  unopened,  in  horror  of  the 
signature  he  anticipated  would  be  appended  to  it.  Roused  by 
resentment  towards  him  whose  name  he  believed  she  then  bore, 
he  tore  asunder  the  wax  of  a letter  from  his  father,  which  was 
sealed  with  black.  His  eyes  were  speedily  riveted  to  it.  Sir 
Fulke,  in  the  language  of  deep  contrition,  confessed  a train  of 
deception  that  petrified  his  son.  He  declared,  with  bitter  in- 
vectives against  himself,  that  all  which  had  been  communicated 
to  that  unhappy  son  relating  to  Edith  and  her  intended  mar- 
riage with  Algernon  had  been  devised  by  that  unkind  brother, 
and  his  no  less  unnatural  father,  for  the  treacherous  purpose  of 
that  marriage.  Devoted  to  ambition  for  his  own  sake,  as  well 
as  for  that  of  his  favorite  son,  Sir  Fulke  owned  that  he  had 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


393 


from  the  first  of  Edith  Beaufort’s  becoming  his  ward  resolved 
on  her  union  in  due  time  with  Algernon,  in  order  to  endow  him, 
in  addition  to  his  own  rich  inheritance,  with  all  the  political  in- 
fluence attendant  on  the  vast  estate  to  which  she  was  heiress, 
and  so  build  up  the  family,  in  the  consideration  of  government, 
to  any  pitch  of  coroneted  rank  their  high-reaching  parent  might 
choose  to  reclaim. 

With  many  prayers  for  pardon  from  Heaven  and  the  cruelly- 
injured  Robert,  the  wretched  father  acknowledged  that  this 
confession  was  wrung  from  him  by  the  sudden  death  of  his 
eldest  son,  who  having  been  thrown  off  his  horse  on  a heap  of 
stones  in  the  high-road,  after  three  days  of  severe  bodily  and 
mental  suffering,  now  lay  a sadly-disfigured  corpse,  under  the 
vainly  mourning  blazonry  of  his  house,  in  the  darkened  hall  of 
his  ancestors.  The  disconsolate  narrator  then  added,  ‘‘  that  in 
contrite  repentance  his  son  had  conjured  him,  with  his  dying 
breath,  to  confess  the  falsehood  of  all  that  had  passed  to  the 
grossly-abused  Robert ; ” amongst  which,  was  Algernon  turning 
to  the  account  of  his  own  designs  every  confidence  imparted  to 
him  by  his  brother,  in  his  incognito  movements,  and  awakened 
intimacy  widi  the  noble  Sarmatian  family  at  Florence.  And 
from  these  unsuspected  sources,  this  false  friend  and  kinsman 
had  contrived  to  throw  out  hints  of  his  brother’s  reported  slid- 
ing heart  to  the  shrinking  object  of  his  own  base  and  perfidious 
passion.  At  last,  believing  Robert  to  be  unfaithful,  she  sunk 
into  a depression  of  spirits  which  Sir  Fulke  thought  would  be 
easy  to  work  to  an  assent,  in  mere  reckless  melancholy,  to  the 
union  he  sought.  With  that  object,  and  to  break  the  knot  at 
once  by  a trenchant  blow  on  Robert’s  side,  Algernon  forged 
that  letter  in  Edith  Beaufort’s  handwriting  which  had  announced 
so  unblushingly  her  preparations  for  an  immediate  marriage 
with  the  eldest  son. 

“ But,”  continued  Sir  Fulke,  death  has  put  an  end  to  this 
unnatural  rivalry.  And  my  poor  girl,  undeceived  in  her  opim 
ion  of  you,  longs  to  see  you,  and  to  give  you  that  hand  which 
your  ill-fated  brother  and  infatuated  father  so  unjustly  detained 
from  you.  You  are  now  my  only  son,  the  only  prop  of  my 
house,  the  only  comfort  of  my  old  age  ! My  son,  do  not  aban- 
don to  his  remorse  and  sorrow  your  only  parent.” 

On  receipt  of  this  packet,  in  a consternation  of  amazement, 
and  a soul  divided  between  rekindled  love  in  all  its  fires  and 
pity  and  honor  towards  her  he  had  betrayed  before  the  altar  of 
heaven,  Robert  Somerset  sacrificed  both  to  his  imperious  pas- 
sion. He  adored  the  woman  on  whose  account  he  had  left  the 


394 


THADBEUS  OF  WARSAIV. 


country,  and  though  every  tie,  sacred  and  just,  bound  him  to 
the  tender  and  faithful  wife  he  must  forsake  to  regain  that  idol, 
he  at  once  consigned  her  to  the  full  horrors  of  desertion  and 
hastened  to  England. 

Disgraceful  to  relate  ! ” ejaculated  Sir  Robert,  putting  his 
hand  over  his  face,  I married  Edith  Beaufort,  while  in  our 
deepest  mourning,  but  at  Somerset,  as  the  place  farthest  from 
general  notice.  My  father,  eager  to  efface  as  fast  as  possible 
from  my  mind  and  hers  all  recollection  of  his  past  conduct 
towards  us,  had  prepared  everything  splendid,  though  private, 
for  our  union  ; and  in  her  blissful,  restored  possession,  I forgot 
for  a while  Therese  and  her  agonies.  But  when  my  dear  Pem- 
broke first  saw  the  light,  when  I pressed  him  to  my  heart,  it 
seemed  as  if  in  the  same  instant  a dagger  pierced  it.  When  I 
would  have  breathed  a blessing  over  him,  the  conviction  struck 
me  that  I durst  not — that  I had  deluded  the  mother  who  gave 
him  birth,  and  that  at  some  future  period  he  might  have  cause 
to  curse  the  author  of  his  existence. 

‘‘Well,”  continued  the  baronet,  wiping  his  forehead,  “ though 
the  birth  of  this  boy  conjured  up  the  image  of  your  mother,  to 
haunt  me  day  and  night,  I never  could  summon  moral  courage 
to  inquire  of  her  destiny  after  I had  left  her.  When  the  trou- 
bles of  Poland  commenced,  what  a dreadful  terror  seized  me  ! 
The  successes  of  their  allied  enemies,  and  the  consequent  dis- 
tress and  persecution  of  the  chief  nobility,  overwhelmed  me 
with  apprehension.  I knew  not  but  that  many,  like  the  noblesse 
of  France,  might  be  forced  to  abandon  their  country  ; and  the 
bare  idea  of  meeting  your  grandfather,  or  the  injured  Therese, 
in  England,  precipitated  me  into  a nervous  state  that  menaced 
my  life.  I became  abstracted  and  seriously  ill,  was  forbidden 
all  excitements  ; hence  easily  avoided  the  sight  of  newspapers  ; 
and,  on  the  plea  you  have  heard,  my  family  were  withheld  from 
speaking  on  any  public  subjects  that  manifestly  gave  me  pain. 
But  I could  not  prevent  the  tongues  of  our  visitors  from  dis- 
coursing on  a theme  which  at  that  period  interested  every 
thinking  mind.  I heard  of  the  valiant  Kosciusko,  the  good 
Stanislaus,  and  the  palatine  Sobieski,  with  his  brave  grandson, 
spoken  of  in  the  same  breath.  I durst  not  surmise  who  this 
grandson  was ; I dared  not  ask — I dreaded  to  know. 

“ At  length,”  added  the  agitated  father,  quickening  his 
voice,  “ the  idol  of  my  heart — she  for  whom  I had  sacrificed 
my  all  of  human  probity,  perhaps  my  soul’s  eternal  peace — 
died  in  my  arms.  Where  could  a wretch  like  me  turn  for  con- 
solation ? I had  forfeited  all  right  to  it  from  Heaven  or  earth. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


395 

But  at  last  a benignant  spirit  seemed  to  breathe  on  me,  and  I 
bent  beneath  the  stroke  with  humility  j for  I embraced  it  as  the 
just  chastisement  of  a crime  which  till  then,  even  in  the  midst 
of  my  married  felicity,  had  often  pressed  on  my  dearest  feel- 
ings like  the  hand  of  death.  I repeat,  I bore  this  chastening 
trial  with  the  resignation  I have  described.  But  when,  two 
years  afterwards,  my  eye  fell  by  accident  upon  the  name  of 
Sobieski  in  one  of  the  public  papers,  I could  not  withdraw  it ; 
my  sight  was  fascinated  as  if  by  a rattle-snake.  In  one  column 
I read  how  bravely  the  palatine  fell,  and  in  the  next  the  dread- 
ful fate  of  his  daughter.  She  was  revenged  ! ” cried  Sir  Robert, 
eagerly  grasping  the  hand  of  Thaddeus,  who  could  not  restrain 
the  groan  that  burst  from  his  breast.  “ For  nearly  three  months 
I was  deprived  of  that  reason  which  had  abused  her  noble 
nature. 

“ When  I recovered  piy  senes,”  continued  he,  in  a calmer 
tone,  and  found  I had  so  fatally  suffered  the  time  of  any 
restitution  to  her  to  go  by,  I began  to  torture  my  remorseful 
heart  because  that  I had  not,  immediately  on  the  death  of 
my  too  much  loved  Edith,  hastened  to  Poland,  and  besought 
Therese’s  pardon  from  her  ever-generous  heart.  But  this  vivid 
approach  to  a sincere  repentance  was  soon  obliterated  by  the 
consideration  that,  the  Countess  Sobieski  having  had  a prior 
claim  to  my  name,  such  restitution  on  my  part  must  have 
illegitimatized  my  darling  Pembroke,  his  dying  mother’s  fond- 
est bequeathment  to  a father’s  arms. 

“ It  was  this  fearful  conviction,”  exclaimed  Sir  Robert,  a 
sudden  horror,  indeed,  distracting  his  before  affectionate  eye, 

“ that  caused  all  my  barbarian  cruelty.  When  my  dear  and 
long-believed  only  son  described  the  danger  from  which  you 
had  rescued  him,  when  he  told  me  that  Therese  had  fostered 
him  with  a parent’s  tenderness,  I was  probed  to  the  heart. 
But  when  he  added  that  the  young  Count  Sobieski  was  now  an 
alien  from  his  country,  and  relying  on  my  friendship  for  a 
home,  my  terror  was  too  truly  manifested.  Horror  drove  all 
natural  remorse  from  my  soul.  I thought  an  avenging  power 
had  sent  my  deserted  child  to  discover  his  father,  to  claim  his 
dghts,  and  to  publish  me  as  a disgrace  to  the  name  I had 
stolen  from  him.  And  when  I saw  my  innocent  Pembroke, 
iven  to  his  knees,  petitioning  for  the  man  who  I believed  had 
:ome  to  undo  him,  I became  almost  deranged.  May  the  Lord 
)f  mercy  pardon  the  fury  of  that  derangement  1 For  under 
hat  temper,”  added  he,  putting  the  trembling  hand  of  Thad- 
ieus  to  his  streaming  eyes,  “ I drove  my  first-born  to  be  a 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


396 

wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  not  for  his  own  crimes,  but 
for  those  of  his  father  ; and  Heaven  justly  punished  in  the 
crime  the  sin  of  my  injustice.  When  I thought  that  evidence 
of  my  shame  was  divided  from  me  by  an  insuperable  barrier, 
when  I believed  that  the  ocean  would  soon  separate  me  from 
my  fears,  a righteous  Providence  brought  thee  before  me,  for- 
lorn and  expiring.  It  was  the  son  of  Therese  Sobieski  I had 
exposed  to  such  wretchedness.  It  was  the  cherished  of  her 
heart  I had  delivered  to  the  raging  elements ! Oh,  Thaddeus, 
my  son,”  cried  he,  can  I be  forgiven  for  all  this,  in  this  world 
or  in  the  next  ? ” 

‘‘  Oh,  my  father ! ” returned  Thaddeus,  with  a modest,  but 
a pathetic  energy,  I am  thy  son  ! thy  happy  son,  in  such 
acknowledgment ! Therefore  no  longer  upbraid  yourself.  Did 
you  not  act,  as  by  a sacred  impulse,  a father’s  part  to  me  when 
you  knew  me  not  ? You  raised  my  dying  head  from  the  earth 
and  laid  it  on  your  bosom.  O,  my  father  ! He  who  brought 
us  so  together  in  his  own  appointed  time,  chasteneth  every  son 
whom  he  receiveth,  and  has  thus  proved  his  love  and  pardon  to 
your  contrite  heart,  both  on  earth  and  in  heaven,  by  the  nature 
of  your  chastisement  and  the  healing  balm  at  its  close  ! ” 

At  the  end  of  this  interview,  so  interesting  and  vital  to  the 
happiness  of  both  these  newly-united  parties,  father  and  son. 
Sir  Robert  motioned  his  blessing  to  that  son  by  laying  his  hand 
gently  on  his  head,  while  the  parental  tears  flowed  on  that  now 
dear  forehead— for  he  could  not  then  speak.  ^ He  immediately! 
withdrew,  to  leave  Thaddeus  to  repose,  and  himself  to  retire  to  | 
pour  out  his  grateful  spirit  in  private. 


CHAPTER  XLVL 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  PEACE. 

At  dawn  on  the  morning  following  the  preceding  eventful 
but  happy  conference.  Sir  Robert,  painfully  remembering  the 
frantic  grief  of  Pembroke  on  finding  that  Sobieski  had  not  only 
withdrawn  himself  from  Harrowby,  but  had  adjured  England 
forever,  and  still  feeling  the  merited  bitterness  of  the  reproaches 
which  his  inexplicable  commands,  dishonoring  to  his  son,  had 
provoked  from  that  only  too-long-preferred  offspring  of  his 
idolized  Edith, —which  reproaches,  unknowingly  so  inflicted  by 


397 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

the  desperation  of  their  utterer,  had  driven  the  guilty  father  to 
seek  a temporary  refuge  from  them,  if  not  from  his  own  accu- 
sing conscience,  under  the  then  solitary  roof  of  one  of  his  coun- 
try seats  in  the  adjacent  county, — yet  somewhat  relieved^  as  by 
the  immediate  mercy  of  Heaven,  from  the  load  of  his  misery, 
he  eagerly  wrote  by  the  auspicious  beams  of  the  rising  sun  a 
few  short  lines  to  Pembroke,  telling  him  that  “ a providential 
circumstance  had  occurred  since  they  parted,  which  he  trusted 
would  finally  reconcile  into  a perfect  peace  all  that  had  recently 
passed  so  distressingly  between  them  ; therefore  he,  his  ever 
tenderly-affectioned  father,  requested  him  to  join  him  alone, 
and  without  delay,  at  Deerhurst.’' 

This  duty  done  to  one  beloved  child,  he  then  turned  to  an- 
ticipate a second  converse  to  his  comfort  with  the  other. 

That  sickness  which  is  the  consequence  of  mental  suffering 
usually  vanishes  with  its  cause.  Long  before  the  dinner-hour 
of  this  happy  day,  Thaddeus,  refreshed  by  the  peaceful  and 
lengthened  sleep  from  which  he  awoke  late  in  the  morning,  rose 
as  if  with  a renewed  principle  o^  life.  Quitting  his  room,  he 
met  his  glad  father  in  the  passage-gallery,  who  instantly  con- 
ducted him  into  a private  room,  where  that  now  tranquillized 
parent  soon  brought  him  to  relate,  with  every  sentence  a deep- 
ening interest,  the  rapid  incidents  of  his  brief  but  eventful 
career.  The  voice  of  fame  had  already  blazoned  him  abroad 
as  ‘‘  the  plume  of  war,  with  early  laurels  crowned  ; ’’  but  it  was 
left  to  his  own  ingenuous  tongue  to  prove,  in  all  the  modest 
simplicity  of  a perfect  filial  confidence,  that  the  most  difficult 
conflicts  are  not  those  which  are  sustained  on  the  battle-field. 

Sir  Robert  listened  to  him  with  affection,  admiration,  and 
delight, — ah,  with  what  pride  in  such  a son ! He  was  answer- 
ing the  heartfelt  detail  with  respondent  gratefulness  to  that 
Almighty  Power  which  had  shed  on  his  transgressing  head  such 
signal  “ signs  of  heavenly  amnesty ! when  the  door  opened, 
and  a servant  announced  that  Mr.  Somerset  was  in  the  library. 

Thaddeus  started  up  with  joy  in  his  countenance;  but  Sir 
Robert  gently  put  him  down  again.  “ Remain  here,  my  son,’’ 
said  he,  “until  I apprize  your  brother  how  nearly  you  are  re- 
lated to  him.  Yonder  door  leads  into  my  study ; I will  call  you 
when  he  is  prepared.” 

The  moment  Sir  Robert  joined  Pembroke,  he  read  in  his 
pale  and  haggard  features  how  much  he  needed  the  intelligence 
he  was  summoned  to  hear.  Mr.  Somerset  bowed  coldly  but 
respectfully  on  his  father’s  entrance,  and  begged  to  be  honored 
with  his  commands. 


THADDEUS  OF  WAESA  W. 


398 


They  are  what  I expect  will  restore  to  you  your  usual 
looks  and  manner,  my  dear  son,’^  returned  the  baronet ; “ so 
attend  to  me.” 

Pembroke  listened  to  his  father’s  narrative  with  mute  and, 
as  it  proceeded,  amazed  attention.  But  when  the  name  of 
Therese  Sobieski  was  mentioned  as  that  of  the  foreign  lady 
whom  he  had  married  and  deserted,  the  ready  apprehension  of 
his  breathless  auditor  conceiving  the  remainder  yet  unuttered 
by  the  agitated  narrator.  Sir  Robert  had  only  to  confirm, 
though  in  a hardly  audible  voice,  the  eager  demand  of  his  son, 
“ Was  Thaddeus  Sobieski  indeed  his  brother  ? ” and  while  hear- 
ing tne  reply,  unable  to  ask  another  question,  he  looked  wildly 
from  earth  to  heaven,  as  if  seeking  where  he  might  yet  be 
found. 

“ O,  my  father ! ” cried  he,  “ what  have  you  done  ? Where 
is  he  ? For  what  have  you  sacrificed  him  ? ” 

“ Hear  me  to  an  end,”  rejoined  the  baronet.  He  then,  in 
as  few  words  as  possible,  repeated  the  subsequent  events  of  the 
recent  meeting.  • 

Pembroke’s  raptures  were  now  as  high  as  his  despair  had 
been  profound.  He  threw  himself  on  his  father’s  breast ; he 
asked  for  his  friend,  his  brother,  and  begged  to  be  conducted 
to  him.  Sir  Robert  did  no  more  than  open  the  intervening 
door,  and  in  one  instant  the  brothers  were  locked  in  each 
other’s  arms. 

The  transports  of  the  young  men  for  a long  while  denied 
them  words ; but  their  eyes,  their  tears,  and  their  united  hands 
imparted  to  each  breast  a consciousness  of  mutual  love  unutter- 
able, not  even  to  be  expressed  by  those  looks  which  are  indeed 
the  heralds  of  the  soul. 

Sir  Robert  wept  like  an  infant  whilst  contemplating  these 
two  affectionate  brothers ; in  a faltering  voice  he  exclaimed, 
“ How  soon  may  these  plighted  hands  be  separated  by  inex- 
orable law!  Alas,  Pembroke,  you  cannot  be  ignorant  that  I 
buy  this  son  at  a terrible  price  from  you ! ” 

At  this  speech  the  blood  rushed  over  the  cheek  of  the  in- 
genuous Pembroke;  but  Thaddeus,  turning  instantly  to  Sir 
Robert,  said,  with  an  eloquent  smile. 

“ On  this  head  I trust  that  neither  my  father  nor  my  brother 
will  entertain  one  thought  to  trouble  them.  Had  I even  the 
inclination  to  act  otherwise  than  right,  my  revered  grandfather 
has  put  it  out  of  my  power  to  claim  or  to  bear  any  other  name 
than  that  of  Sobieski.  He  made  me  swear  never  to  change  it ; 
and,  as  I hope  to  meet  him  hereafter,”  added  he,  with  solemnity, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


399 

I will  obey  him.  Therefore,  my  beloved  father,  in  secret  only 
can  I enjoy  the  conviction  that  I am  your  son,  and  Pembroke’s 
brother.  Yet  the  happiness  I receive  with  the  knowledge  of 
being  so  will  ever  live  here,  will  ever  animate  my  heart  with 
gratitude  to  Heaven  and  to  you.” 

‘‘  Noble  son  of  the  sainted  Therese  ! ” cried  Sir  Robert ; “ I 
do  not  deserve  thee  ! ” 

“ How  shall  I merit  your  care  of  my  honor,  of  my  dearest 
feelings  ? ” exclaimed  Pembroke,  grasping  the  hand  of  his 
brother.  “ I can  do  nothing,  dearest  Thaddeus  ; I am  a bank- 
rupt in  the  means  of  evincing  what  is  passing  in  my  soul.  My 
mother’s  chaste  spirit  thanks  you  from  my  lips.  *Yet  I will  not 
abuse  your  generosity.  Though  I retain  the  name  of  Somerset, 
it  shall  only  be  the  name ; the  inheritance  entailed  on  my 
father’s  eldest  son  belongs  to  you.” 

Whilst  Thaddeus  embraced  his  brother  again,  he  calmly  and 
aifectionately  replied  that  he  would  rather  encounter  all  the 
probable  evils  from  which  his  father’s  benevolence  had  saved 
him,  than  rob  his  brother  of  any  part  of  that  inheritance, 
‘‘  which,”  he  earnestly  added,  “ I sincerely  believe,  according 
to  the  Providence  of  Heaven,  is  your  just  due.” 

Sir  Robert,  with  abhorrence  of  himself  and  admiration  of 
his  sons,  attempted  to  stop  this  noble  contention  by  proposing 
that  it  should  be  determined  by  an  equal  division  of  the  family 
property. 

‘‘Not  so,  my  father,”  returned  Thaddeus,  steadfastly,  but 
with  reverence ; “ I can  never  admit  that  the  title  of  Somerset 
should  sacrifice  one  jot  of  its  inherited  accustomed  munificence 
by  making  any  such  alienation  of  its  means.” 

And  then  the  ingenuous  son  of  Therese  Sobieski  proceeded, 
in  the  same  modest  but  firm  tone,  to  remind  his  father  that 
“ though  the  laws  of  the  national  church  wherein  he  had  married 
her  would  have  given  their  son  every  right  over  any  inheritance 
from  either  parent  which  belonged  to  Poland,  yet  as  no  oppor- 
tunity had  subsequently  occurred  for  repeating  the  sacred  cere- 
mony by  the  laws  of  his  father’s  church,  her  son  could  make  no 
legal  claim  whatever  on  a rood  of  the  Somerset  lands  in 
.England.” 

I Sir  Robert,  with  unspeakable  emotion,  clasped  the  hand  of 
I his  first-born  when  he  had  made,  and  with  such  tender  delicacy, 

I this  conclusive  remark,  and  which,  indeed,  had  never  presented 
I itself  to  his  often  distractedly  apprehensive  mind,  either  before 
i or  after  the  death  of  Pembroke’s  mother ; even  had  it  done  so, 

: it  would  not  have  afforded  any  quiet  to  his  soul  from  the  inter- 


400 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAIV. 


nal  worm  gnawing  there.  His  act  had  been  guilt  towards 
Therese  Sobieski  and  her  confiding  innocence.  And  it  was  not 
the  discovery  of  any  omitted  legislative  ordinance  that  could 
have  satisfied  the  accusing  conscience  in  his  own  bosom,  hourly 
calling  out  against  him.  But  the  heaven-consecrated  son  of 
that  profaned  marriage  had  found  the  reconciling  point — had 
poured  in  the  healing  balm  ; and  the  spirit  of  his  father  was 
now  at  peace. 

In  cordial  harmony,  therefore,  with  this  generous  opinion, 
so  opportunely  expressed  by  the  sincere  judgment  of  the  last 
of  the  house  of  Sobieski,  when  so  united  to  that  of  Somerset, 
and  with  a corresponding  simplicity  of  purpose,  interwoven  by 
the  sweet  reciprocity  of  mutual  confidence,  the  remainder  of  the 
evening  passed  pleasantly  between  the  happy  father  and  his  no 
less  happy  sons. 

Sir  Robert  dispatched  a letter  next  day  to  his  sister,  to 
invite  her  and  his  beloved  Mary  to  join  the  home  party  at 
Deerhurst  without  delay.  Pembroke  rejoiced  in  this  prospec- 
tive relief  to  the  minds  of  his  aunt  and  cousin,  being  well  aware 
that  he  had  left  them  in  a state  of  intense  anxiety,  not  only  on 
account  of  the  baronet’s  strange  conduct, — which  had  not  been 
explicable  in  any  way  to  their  alarmed  observations, — but  on 
account  of  himself,  Vv^hose  mind  had  appeared  from  the  time  of 
his  father’s  incensed  departure  in  a state  verging  on  derange- 
ment. On  the  instant  of  his  return  from  the  deserted  hotel, 
while  passing  Mary,  whom  he  accidently  met  in  his  bewildered 
way  to  Sir  Robert’s  room,  he  had  exclaimed  to  her,  I have 
not  seen  Sobieski ! he  is  gone  ! and  your  message  is  not  deliv- 
ered.” From  the  time  of  that  harrowing  intimation,  he  had 
constantly  avoided  even  the  sight  of  his  cousin  or  his  aunt. 
Yet  before  he  quitted  the  Castle  to  obey  his  father’s  new  com- 
mands, he  had  summoned  courage  to  enter  Mary’s  boudoir, 
where  she  sat  alone.  Not  trusting  himself  to  speak,  he  put  the 
letter  which  Thaddeus  had  written  to  her  into  her  hand,  and 
disappeared,  not  daring  to  await  her  opening  what  he  knew  to 
be  a last  farewell. 

He  had  guessed  aright ; for  from  the  moment  in  which  her 
trembling  hand  had  broken  the  seal  and  she  had  read  it  to  the 
end,  bathed  in  her  tears,  it  lay  on  her  mourning  heart,  whether 
she  waked  or  slept,  till  her  silent  grief  was  roused  to  share  her 
thoughts  with  a personal  exertion,  welcome  to  that  despondent 
heart.  It  was  Sir  Robert’s  invitation  for  her  own  and  her 
aunt’s  immediate  removal  to  their  always  favorite  Deerhurst ! 
because  far  from  the  gay  world,  and  ever  devoted  to  quite  do- 
mestic enjoyments. 


THADDEUS  OF  IVAESAlV. 


401 


But  before  this  summons  had  arrived,  and  early  in  the 
n^^ming  of  the  same  day,  Lady  Albina  Stanhope,  more  dead 
than  aiive  in  appearance,  had  reached  Somerset  Castle  in  a 
post-chaise,  accompanied  by  her  maid  alone,  to  implore  the 
protection  of  its  revered  owner  against  the  most  terrible  evils 
that  could  be  inflicted  by  an  unnatural  parent  on  a daughter’s 
heart — that  of  being  compelled  to  be  a party  in  a double  out- 
rage on  the  memory  of  her  mother,  by  witnessing  the  marriage 
of  her  father,  by  special  license,  to  Lady  Olivia  Lovel,  that 
very  evening,  in  the  Harwold  great  hall,  and  herself  to  commit 
the  monstrous  act  of  being  married  to  a nephew  of  that  profli- 
gate woman.  To  avoid  such  horrors,  she  had  flown  for  refuge 
to  the  only  persons  she  knew  on  earth  likely  to  shield  her 
from  so  great  an  infamy. 

Soon  after  this  disclosure,  to  which  the  sister  and  niece  of 
the  beneficent  Sir  Robert  Somerset — whom  she  had  hoped  to 
find  at  the  Castle — had  listened  wnth  the  tenderest  sympathy, 
his  letter  to  Miss  Dorothy  was  delivered  to  the  venerable  lady. 
Mary  and  their  fatigued  guest  were  seated  together  on  the 
sofa ; and  the  seal,  without  apolog}^,  from  the  receiver’s  anxious 
haste  to  learn  what  it  might  contain  of  her  brother’s  health, 
was  instantly  broken.  A glance  removed  every  care.  Read- 
ing it  aloud  to  both  her  young  auditors,  at  every  w'elcome  word 
the  bosom  of  the  amazed  Miss  Beaufort  heaved  wnth  increasing 
astonishment,  hope,  and  gratitude,  while  beneath  the  veil  of 
her  clustered  ringlets  her  eyes  shed  the  tribute  of  happy  tears 
to  heaven — to  that  heaven  alone  her  virgin  spirit  breathed  the 
emotions  of  her  reviving  heart.  The  good  old  lady  was  not 
backward  in  demonstrating  her  wonderings.  Surprised  at  her 
brother’s  rencontre  with  Thaddeus,  but  more  at  his  avow^al  of 
obligations  to  any  of  that  nation  about  which  he  had  always 
proclaimed  an  aversion,  she  was  so  wrapped  in  bewilderment 
yet  delight  at  the  discovery,  that  her  ever  cheerful  tongue  felt 
nothing  loathe  to  impart  to  the  attentively-listening  Albina — 
w'ho  had  recognized  in  the  names  of  Constantine  and  Thaddeus 
those  of  her  lamented  mother’s  most  faithful  friend — all  that 
she  knew  of  his  public  as  well  as  his  private  character  since 
she  had  known  him  by  that  of  Sobieski  also. 

Sir  Robert’s  letter  informed  his  sister  “ that  a providential 
circumstance  had  introduced  Pembroke’s  friend,  the  Count 
Sobieski,  to  his  presence,  when,  to  his  astonishment  and  un- 
utterable satisfaction,  he  discovered  that  this  celebrated  young 
hero  (though  one  of  a nation  against  w^hich  he  had  so  often 
declared  his  dislike,  but  which  ungenerous  prejudice  he  now 


402 


THADDEUS  OF  IVAFSAW. 


abjured  !)  was  the  only  remaining  branch  of  a family  from 
whom,  about  twenty-five  years  ago,  while  in  a country  far  distant 
equally  from  England  or  Poland,  he  had  received  many  kind- 
nesses. He  had  contracted  an  immense  debt,  under  peculiarly 
embarrassing  circumstances  to  himself,  when  then  an  alien 
from  his  father’s  confidence.  And  his  benefactor  in  this  other- 
wise inextricable  dilemma  was  the  Palatine  of  Masovia,  the 
world-revered  grandfather  of  the  young  Count  Sobieski.  And,” 
he  added,  “in  some  small  compensation  for  the  long-unredeemed 
pecuniary  part  of  this  latter  obligation,  (the  fulfilment  of  which 
certain  adverse  events  on  the  continent  had  continued  to  pre- 
vent), he  had  besought  and  obtained  permission  from  the 
young  count,  now  in  England,  to  at  once  set  at  rest  his  past 
anxieties  to  settle  an  affair  of  so  much  importance,  by  signing 
over  to  him,  as  the  palatine’s  heir  and  representative,  the  sole 
property  of  his  (Sir  Robert’s)  recently-purchased  new  domain 
— the  house  and  estates  of  Manor  Court,  nearly  adjoining  to 
those  of  Deerhurst,  on  the  Warwick  side.  The  rent-roll  might 
be  about  five  thousand  pounds  per  annum.  And  there,  in 
immediate  right  of  possession,  the  noble  descendant  of  his 
munificent  friend  would  resume  his  illustrious  name,  and 
embrace,  with  a generous  esteem  of  this  country’s  national 
character,  a lasting  home  and  filiation  in  England  ! ” 

Sir  Robert  closed  this  auspicious  letter  (which  he  had 
striven,  however,  to  write  in  such  a manner  as  not  to  betray 
the  true  nature  of  the  parental  feelings  which  dictated  it)  with 
a playful  expression  of  his  impatience  to  present  to  his  sister 
and  niece  “ their  interesting  emigre  in  a character  which  re- 
flected so  much  honor  on  their  discernment.” 

The  impatience  was  indeed  shared,  though  in  different  de- 
grees and  forms,  by  the  whole  little  party — the  soul  of  one  in 
it  totally  absorbed.  But  owing  to  some  insurmountable  ob- 
stacles, occasioning  delays,  by  the  exhausted  state  of  the  over- 
wrought Lady  Albina  ; and  notwithstanding  the  necessity  of 
getting  on  as  fast  as  possible,  to  be  out  of  the  reach  of  the 
enraged  earl,  should  he  have  missed  and  traced  his  daughter 
to  Somerset  Castle,  the  fugitives  could  not  start  till  late  in  the 
afternoon  of  that  day,  and  it  was  an  hour  or  more  past  midnight 
before  they  arrived  at  Deerhurst. 

The  family,  in  no  small  disappointment,  had  given  them  up 
for  the  night,  and  had  retired  to  their  rooms.  Miss  Dorothy, 
who  would  not  suffer  her  brother  to  be  disturbed,  sent  the  two 
young  ladies  to  their  chambers,  and  was  crossing,  on  tiptoe, 
the  long  picture-gallery  to  her  own  apartment,  when  a door 


TB A DDE  vs  OF  WARSAiV. 


403 


opening,  Pembroke,  in  his  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  looked 
out  on  hearing  the  stealthy  step.  She  put  forth  her  hand  to 
him  with  delight,  and  in  a low  voice  congratulated  him  on  the 
change  in  Sir  Robertas  mind,  kissed  his  cheek,  and  told  him 
to  prepare  for  another  pleasant  surprise  in  the  morning.  Smil- 
ing with  these  words,  she  bade  him  good-night,  and  softly  pro- 
ceeded to  her  chamber. 

Pembroke  had  thought  so  little  of  his  ever-merry  aunt^s 
lively  promise,  that  she  saw  him  one  of  the  latest  in  entering 
the  breakfast-parlor,  he  not  having  hastened  from  his  usual 
breezy  early  walk  over  the  neighboring  downs,  where  Thaddeus 
had  been  his  companion.  Miss  Dorothy  gayly  reproached  her 
nephew  for  his  undutiful  lack  of  curiosity  ; while  Mary,  with  a 
glowing  cheek,  received  the  glad  embrace  of  her  cousin,  who 
gently  whispered  to  her,  “ Now  I shall  see  together  the  two 
beings  I most  dearly  love  ! Oh  ! the  happiness  contained  in 
that  sight ! ’’  Mary^s  vivid  blush  had  not  subsided  when  the 
entrance  of  Thaddeus,  and  his  agitated  bow,  overspread  her 
neck  and  brow  with  crimson.  A sudden  dimness  obscured  her 
faculties,  and  she  scarcely  heard  the  animated  words  of  Sir 
Robert,  whilst  presenting  him  to  her  as  the  Count  Sobieski, 
the  beloved  grandson  of  one  who  had  deserved  the  warmest 
place  in  his  heart ! Whatever  he  was,  the  lowly  Constantine 
or  the  distinguished  Sobieski,  she  was  conscious  that  he  was 
lord  of  hers  ; and  withdrawing  her  hand  confusedly  from  the 
timid  and  thrilling  touch  of  him  she  would  have  willingly  lin- 
gered near  forever,  she  glided  towards  an  open  casement,  where 
the  fresh  air  helped  to  dispel  the  faintness  which  had  seized 
her. 

After  Miss  Dorothy,  with  all  the  urbanity  of  her  nature, 
had  declared  her  welcome  to  the  count,  she  put  away  the  coffee 
that  was  handed  to  her  by  Pembroke,  and  said,  with  a smile, 
“ Before  I taste  my  breakfast,  I must  inform  you,  Sir  Robert, 
that  you  have  a guest  in  this  house  you  little  expect.  I for- 
bade Miss  Beaufort^s  saying  a word,  because,  as  we  are  told, 

‘ the  first  tellers  of  unwelcome  news  have  but  a losing  office  / 
vice  versd,  I hoped  for  a gaining  one,  therefore  preserved 
such  a profitable  piece  of  intelligence  for  my  own  promulga- 
tion. Indeed,  I doubt  whether  it  will  not  win  me  a pair  of 
gloves  from  some  folks  here,’’  added  she,  glancing  archly  on 
Pembroke,  who  looked  round  at  this  whimsical  declaration. 
“ Suffice  it  to  say,  that  yesterday  morning  Lady  Albina  Stan- 
hope, looking  like  a ghost,  and  her  poor  maid,  scared  almost 
out  of  her  wits,  arrived  in  a hack-chaise  at  Somerset  Castle, 


404 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


and  besought  our  protection.  Our  dear  Mary  embraced  the 
weeping  young  creature,  who,  amidst  many  tears,  recapitulated 
the  injuries  she  had  suffered  since  she  had  been  torn  from  her 
mother’s  remain’s  at  the  Abbey.  The  latest  outrage  of  her 
cruel  father  was  his  intended  immediate  marriage  with  the  vile 
Lady  Olivia  Lovel,  and  his  commands  that  Lady  Albina  should 
the  same  evening  give  her  hand  to  that  bad  woman’s  nephew. 
Ill  as  she  was  when  she  received  these  disgraceful  orders,  she 
determined  to  prevent  the  horror  of  such  double  degradation 
by  inj^tantly  quitting  the  house ; ‘ and,’  added  she,  ‘ whither 
couid  I go  ? Ah  ! 1 could  think  of  none  so  likely  to  pity  the 
unhappy  victim  of  the  wickedness  I fled  from  as  the  father  of 
the  kind  Mr.  Somerset.  He  had  told  me  we  were  relations  ; 
I beseech  you,  kind  ladies,  to  be  my  friends ! ’ Certain  of 
your  benevolence,  my  dear  brother,”  continued  Miss  Dorothy, 
‘‘  I stopped  this  sweet  girl’s  petition  with  my  caresses,  and 
promised  her  a gentler  father  in  Sir  Robert  Somerset.” 

“You  did  right,  Dorothy,”  returned  the  baronet ; “though 
the  earl  and  I must  ever  be  strangers,  I have  no  enmity  to  his 
children.  Where  is  this  just-principled  young  lady  ” 

Miss  Dorothy  informed  him  that,  in  consequence  of  her 
recent  grief  and  ill  treatment,  she  had  found  herself  too  unwell 
to  rise  with  the  family ; but  she  hoped  to  join  them  at  noon. 

Pembroke  was  indeed  deeply  interested  in  this  intelligence. 
The  simple  graces  of  the  lovely  Albina  had  on  the  first  inter- 
view touched  his  heart.  Her  sufferings  at  Harrowby,  and  the 
sensibility  which  her  ingenuous  nature  exhibited  without  affec- 
tation or  disguise,  had  left  her  image  on  his  mind  long  after 
they  parted.  He  now  gave  the  reins  to  his  eager  imagination, 
and  was  the  first  in  the  saloon  to  greet  her  as  his  lovely  kins-^ 
woman. 

Sir  Robert  Somerset  welcomed  her  with  the  warmth  of  a 
parent,  and  the  amiable  girl  wept  in  happy  gratitude. 

During  this  scene.  Miss  Beaufort,  no  longer  able  to  beai 
the  restraint  of  company  nor  even  the  accidental  encountering 
of  his  eyes  whose  presence,  dear  as  it  was,  oppressed  and  dis' 
concerted  her,  walked  out  into  the  park.  Though  it  was  the 
latter  end  of  October,  the  weather  continued  fine.  A bright 
sun  tempered  the  air,  and  gilded  the  yellow  leaves,  which  the 
fresh  wind  drove  before  her  into  a thousand  glittering  eddies. 
This  was  Mary’s  favorite  season.  She  ever  found  its  solemnity 
infuse  a sacred  tenderness  into  her  soul.  The  rugged  form  of 
Care  seemed  to  dissolve  under  the  magic  touch  of  sweet  Na- 
ture. Forgetful  of  the  world’s  anxieties,  she  felt  the  tranquilliz* 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


405 

ing  spirit  of  soothing  melancholy  that  shades  the  heart  of  sor- 
row with  a veil  which  might  well  be  called  the  twilight  of  the 
mind  ; and  the  entranced  soul,  happy  in  its  dream,  half  closes 
its  bright  eye,  reluctant  to  perceive  that  such  bland  repose  is 
pillowed  on  the  shifting  clouds. 

Such  were  the  reflections  of  Miss  Beaufort,  after  her  dis- 
turbed thoughts  had  tossed  themselves,  in  a sea  of  doubts,  re- 
garding any  possible  interest  she  might  possess  in  the  breast 
of  Sobieski.  She  recalled  the  hours  they  had  passed  together ; 
they  agitated  but  did  not  satisfy  her  heart.  She  remembered 
Pembroke’s  vehement  declaration  that  Thaddeus  loved  her; 
but  then  it  was  Pembroke’s  declaration,  not  his  ! and  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  it  had  been  made  were  too  likely  to  mis- 
lead the  wishes  of  her  cousin.  And  then  Sobieski’s  farewell 
letter ! It  was  noble — grateful ; but  where  appeared  the  glow- 
ing, soul- pervading  sentiment  that  consumed  her  life  for  him  ? 
Exhausted  by  the  anguish  of  this  suspense,  she  resolved  to 
resign  her  future  fate  to  Providence.  Turning  her  gaze  on  the 
lovely  objects  around,  she  soon  found  the  genius  of  the  season 
absorb  her  wholly.  Her  cheeks  glowed,  her  eyes  became 
humid,  and  casting  their  mild  radiance  on  the  fading  flowers 
beneath,  she  pursued  her  way  through  a cloud  of  fragrance. 
It  was  the  last  breath  of  the  expiring  year.  Love  is  full  of 
imagination.  Mary  easily  glided  from  the  earth’s  departing 
charms  to  her  own  she  thought  waning  beauty  ; the  chord  once 
touched,  every  note  vibrated,  and  hope  and  fear,  joy  and  regret, 
again  dispossessed  her  lately-^acquired  serenity. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

AN  AVOWAL. 

After  some  little  time.  Lady  Albina,  having  missed  Miss 
Beaufort,  expressed  a wish  to  walk  out  in  search  of  her,  and 
the  two  brothers  offered  their  attendance.  But  before  her 
ladyship  had  passed  through  the  first  park,  she  complained!  of 
fatigue.  Pembroke  urged  her  to  enter  a shepherd’s  hut  close 
by,  whilst  the  Count  Sobieski  would  proceed  alone  in  quest  of 
his  cousin. 

With  a beating  lienrt  Thaddeus  undertook  this  commissioa 


4o6 


Tl/ADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


Hastening  along  the  nearest  dell  with  the  lightness  of  a young 
hunter,  he  mounted  the  heights,  descended  to  the  glades,  trav- 
ersed one  woody  nook  and  then  another,  but  could  see  no 
trace  of  Miss  Beaufort.  Supposing  she  had  returned  to  the 
house,  he  was  slackening  his  pace  to  abandon  the  search,  when 
he  caught  a glimpse  of  her  figure  as  she  turned  the  corner  of 
a thicket  leading  to  a terrace  above.  In  an  instant  he  was  at 
her  side,  and  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  a glowing  cheek, 
he  repeated  his  errand. 

Mary  blushed,  faltered,  and  became  strangely  alarmed  at 
finding  herself  alone  with  him.  Though  he  now  stood  before 
her  in  a quality  which  she  ever  believed  was  his  right,  the  re- 
membrance of  what  had  passed  between  them  in  other  circum- 
stances confounded  and  overwhelmed  her.  When  Cqnstantine 
was  poor  and  unfriended,  it  seemed  a sacred  privilege  to  pity 
and  to  love  him.  When  the  same  Constantine  appeared  as  a 
man  of  rank,  invested  with  a splendid  fortune  and  extensive 
fame,  she  felt  lost — annihilated.  The  cloud  which  had  ob- 
scured, not  extinguished,  his  glory  was  dispersed.  He  was  that 
Sobieski  whom  she  had  admired  unseen  ; he  was  that  Con- 
stantine whom  she  had  loved  unknown  ; he  was  that  Sobieski, 
that  Constantine,  whom,  seen  and  known,  she  now,  alas  ! loved 
almost  to  adoration  ! 

Oppressed  by  the  weight  of  these  emotions,  she  only  bowed 
to  what  he  said,  and  gathering  her  cloak  from  the  winds  which 
blew  it  around  her,  was  hurrying  with  downward  eyes  to  the 
stairs  of  the  terrace,  when  her  foot  slipped,  and  she  must  have 
fallen,  had  not  Thaddeus  caught  her  in  his  ready  arm.  She 
rose  with  a blushing  face,  and  the  color  did  not  recede  when 
she  found  that  he  had  not  relinquished  her  hand.  Her  heart 
beat  violently,  her  head  became  giddy,  her  feet  lost  their  power. 
Finding  that,  after  a slight  attempt  to  withdraw  her  hand,  he 
still  held  it  fast,  though  in  a trembling  grasp,  and  nearly  over- 
come by  inexplicable  distress,  she  turned  away  her  face  to  con- 
ceal its  confusion. 

Thaddeus  saw  all  this,  and  with  a fluttering  hope,  instead 
of  surrendering  the  hand  he  had  retained,  he  made  it  a yet 
closer  prisoner  by  clasping  it  in  both  his.  Pressing  it  earnestly 
to  his  breast,  he  said  in  a hurried  voice,  whilst  his  earnest  eyes 
poured  all  their  beams  upon  her  averted  cheek,  “ Surely  Miss 
Beaufort  will  not  deny  me  the  dearest  happiness  I possess — 
the  privilege  of  being  grateful  to  her  ? ’’ 

He  paused  : his  soul  was  too  full  for  utterance ; and  rais- 
ing Mary’s  hand  from  his  heart  to  his  lips,  he  kissed  it  fer- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


407 

vently.  Almost  fainting,  Miss  Beaufort  leaned  her  head 
against  a tree  of  the  thicket  where  they  were  standing.  The 
thought  of  the  confession  which  Pembroke  had  extorted  from 
her,  and  dreading  that  its  fullness  might  have  been  imparted 
to  him,  and  that  all  this  was  rather  the  tribute  of  gratitude  than 
of  love,  she  waved  her  other  hand  in  sign  for  him  to  leave  her. 

Such  extraordinary  confusion  in  her  manner  palsied  the 
warm  and  blissful  emotions  of  the  count.  He,  too,  began  to 
blame  the  sanguine  representation  of  his  friend  ; and  fearing 
that  he  had  offended  her,  that  she  might  suppose  he  presumed 
on  her  kindness,  he  stood  for  a moment  in  silent  astonishment ; 
then  dropping  on  his  knee,  (hardly  conscious  of  the  action,) 
declared  in  an  agitated  voice  his  sense  of  having  given  this 
offence  : at  the  same  time  he  ventured  to  repeat,  with  equally 
modest  energy,  the  soul-devoted  passion  he  had  so  long  en- 
deavored to  seal  up  in  his  lonely  breast. 

‘‘  But  forgive  me  ! ’’  added  he,  with  increased  earnestness  ; 
‘Horgive  me,  in  justice  to  your  own  virtues.  In  what  has  just 
passed,  I feel  I ought  to  have  only  expressed  thanks  for  your 
goodness  to  an  unfortunate  exile  ; but  if  my  words  or  manner 
have  obeyed  the  more  fervid  impulse  of  my  soul,  and  declared 
aloud  what  is  its  glory  in  secret,  blame  my  nature,  most  re- 
spected Miss  Beaufort,  not  my  presumption.  I have  not  dared 
to  look  steadily  on  any  aim  higher  than  your  esteem.’’ 

Mary  knew  not  how  to  receive  this  address.  The  position 
in  which  he  uttered  it,  his  countenance  when  she  turned  to 
answer  him,  were  both  demonstrative  of  something  less  equivo- 
cal than  his  speech.  He  was  still  grasping  the  drapery  of  her 
cloak,  and  his  eyes,  from  which  the  wind  blew  back  his  fine 
hair,  were  beaming  upon  her  full  of  that  piercing  tenderness 
which  at  once  dissolves  and  assures  the  soul. 

She  passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes.  Her  soul  was  in  a 
tumult.  She  too  fondly  wished  to  believe  that  he  loved  her  to 
trust  the  evidence  of  what  she  saw.  His  words  were  ambiguous, 
and  that  was  sufficient  to  fill  her  with  uncertainty.  Jealous  of 
that  delicacy  which  is  the  parent  of  love,  and  its  best  preserver, 
she  checked  the  overflowings  of  her  heart,  and  whilst  her  con- 
cealed face  streamed  with  tears,  conjured  him  to  rise.  In- 
stinctively she  held  out  her  hand  to  assist  him.  He  obeyed  ; 
and  hardly  conscious  of  what  she  said,  she  continued — 

You  have  done  nothing.  Count  Sobieski,  to  offend  me.  I 
was  fearful  of  my  own  conduct — that  you  might  have  supposed 
— I mean,  unfortunate  appearances  might  lead  you  to  imagine 
that  I was  influenced — was  so  forgetful  of  myself 


4o8 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAm 


Cease,  madam  ! Cease,  for  pity’s  sake  ! ” cried  Thadde^^s.^ 
starting  back,  and  dropping  her  hand.  Every  motion  which 
faltered  on  her  tongue  had  met  an  answering  pang  in  his  breast. 

Fearing  that  he  had  set  his  heart  on  the  possession  of  a 
treasure  totally  out  of  his  reach,  he  knew  not  how  high  had 
been  his  hope  until  he  felt  the  depth  of  his  despair.  Taking 
up  his  hat,  which  lay  on  the  grass,  with  a countenance  from 
which  every  gleam  of  joy  was  banished,  he  bowed  respectfully, 
and  in  a lower  tone  continued  : The  dependent  situation  in 
which  I appeared  at  Lady  Dundas’s  being  ever  before  my  eyes, 
I was  not  so  absurd  as  to  suppose  that  any  lady  could  then 
notice  me  from  any  other  sentiment  than  humanity.  That  I 
excited  this  humanity,  where  alone  I was  proud  to  awaken  it, 
was,  in  these  hours  of  dejection,  my  sole  comfort.  It  consoled 
me  for  the  friends  I had  lost ; it  repaid  me  for  fhe  honors 
which  were  no  more.  But  that  is  past ! Seeing  no  further 
cause  for  compassion,  you  deem  the  delusion  no  longer  neces- 
sary. Since  you  will  not  allow  me  an  individual  distinction  in 
having  attracted  your  benevolence,  though  I am  to  ascribe  it 
all  to  a charity  as  diffused  as  effective,  yet  I must  ever  acknowl- 
edge with  the  deepest  gratitude  that  I owe  my  present  home 
and  happiness  to  Miss  Beaufort.  Further  than  this,  I shall 
not — I dare  not — presume.” 

These  words  shifted  all  the  count’s  anguish  to  Mary’s 
breast.  She  perceived  the  offended  delicacy  which  actuated 
each  syllable  as  it  fell ; and  fearful  of  having  lost  everything 
by  her  cold  and  what  might  appear  haughty  reply,  she  opened 
her  lips  to  say  what  might  better  explain  her  meaning ; but  her 
heart  failing  her,  she  closed  them  again,  and  continued  to  walk 
in  silence  by  his  side.  Having  allowed  the  opportunity  to 
escape,  she  believed  that  all  hopes  of  exculpation  were  at  an 
end.  Not  daring  to  look  up,  she  cast  a despairing  glance  at 
Sobieski’s  graceful  figure,  as  he  walked,  equally  silent,  near 
her.  His  arms  were  folded,  his  hat  pulled  over  his  forehead, 
and  his  long  dark  eyelashes,  shading  his  downward  eyes,  im- 
parted a dejection  to  his  whole  air  which  wrapped  her  weeping 
heart  round  and  round  with  regretful  pangs.  Ah  ! ” thought 
she,  though  the  offspring  of  but  one  moment,  they  will  prey  on 
my  peace  forever.” 

At  the  turning  of  a little  wooded  knoll,  the  mute  and  pen- 
sive pair  heard  the  sound  of  some  one  on  the  other  side,  ap- 
proaching them  through  the  dry  leaves.  In  a minute  after 
Sir  Robert  Somerset  appeared. 

Whilst  his  father  advanced  smiling  towards  him,  Thaddeus 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W, 


409 


attempted  to  dispel  the  gloom  of  his  countenance,  but  not  suc- 
ceeding, he  bowed  abruptly  to  the  agitated  Mary,  and  hastily 
said,  ‘‘  I will  leave  Miss  Beaufort  in  your  protection,  sir,  and 
go  myself  to  see  whether  Lady  Albina  be  recovered  from  her 
fatigue.’’ 

“ I thought  to  find  you  all  together,”  returned  Sir  Robert ; 
“ where  is  her  ladyship  ? ” 

“ I left  her  with  Pembroke,  in  a hut  by  the  river,”  said 
Thaddeus,  and  bowing  again,  he  hurried  away,  whilst  his  father 
called  after  him  to  return  in  a few  minutes,  and  accompany 
him  in  a walk. 

The  departure  of  Sob^eski,  when  he  had  come  expressly  to 
attend  her  to  Lady  Albina,  nearly  overwhelmed  Miss  Beaufort’s 
before-exhausted  spirits.  Hardly  knowing  whether  to  remain 
or  retreat,  she  was  attempting  the  latter,  when  her  guardian 
caught  her  hand. 

“ Stay,  Mary  ! ” cried  he ; you  surely  would  not  leave  me 
alone  ? ” 

Miss  Beaufort’s  tears  had  gushed  over  her  eyes  the  moment 
her  back  was  turned,  and  as  Sir  Robert  drew  her  towards  him, 
to  his  extreme  amazement  he  saw  that  she  was  weeping.  At  a 
sight  so  unexpected,  the  smile  of  hilarity  left  his  lips.  Putting 
his  arm  tenderly  round  her  waist,  (for  now  that  her  distress  had 
discovered  itself,  her  emotion  became  so  great  that  she  could 
hardly  stand,)  he  inquired  in  a kindly  manner  what  had  affected 
her. 

She  answered  by  sobs  only,  until  finding  it  impossible  to 
break  away  from  her  uncle’s  arms,  she  hid  her  face  in  his 
bosom  and  gave  vent  to  the  full  tide  of  her  tears. 

Recollecting  the  strange  haste  in  which  Thaddeus  had  hur- 
ried from  them,  and  remembering  Miss  Beaufort’s  generosity 
to  him  in  town,  followed  by  her  succeeding  melancholy.  Sir 
Robert  at  once  united  these  circumstances  with  her  present 
confusion,  and  conceiving  an  instantaneous  suspicion  of  the 
reality,  pressed  her  with  redoubled  affection  to  his  bosom. 

“ I fear,  my  dearest  girl,”  said  he,  “ that  something  disa- 
greeable has  happened  between  you  and  the  Count  Sobieski. 
Perhaps  he  has  offended  you  ? perhaps  he  has  found  my  sweet 
Mary  too  amiable  } ” 

Alarmed  at  this  supposition,  after  a short  struggle  she  an- 
swered* “ O no,  sir ! It  is  I who  have  offended  him.  He 
thinks  I pride  myself  on  the  insignificant  services  I rendered  to 
him  in  London.” 

This  reply  convinced  the  baronet  that  he  had  not  been  pre- 


410 


TIIAnnEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


mature  in  his  judgment,  and,  with  a new-born  delight  springing 
in  his  soul,  he  inquired  why  she  thought  so  ? Had  she  given 
him  any  reason  to  believe  so  ? 

Mary  trembled  at  saying  more. — Dreading  that  every  word 
she  might  utter  would  betray  how  highly  she  prized  the  count’s 
esteem,  she  faltered,  hesitated,  stopped.  Sir  Robert  put  the 
question  a second  time,  in  different  terms. 

My  loved  Mary,”  said  he,  seating  her  by  him  on  the  trunk 
of  a fallen  tree,  ^ 1 am  sincerely  anxious  that  you  and  this  young 
nobleman  should  regard  each  other  as  friends.  He  is  very 
dear  to  me ; and  you  cannot  doubt,  my  sweet  girl,  my  affection 
for  yourself.  Tell  me,  therefore,  the  cause  of  this  little  misun- 
derstanding.” 

Miss  Beaufort  took  courage  at  this  speech.  Drying  her 
glowing  eyes,  though  still  concealing  them  with  a handkerchief, 
she  replied  in  a firmer  voice,  I believe,  sir,  the  fault  lies 
totally  on  my  side.  The  Count  Sobieski  met  me  on  the  terrace, 
and  thanked  me  for  what  I had  done  for  him.  I acted  very 
weakly  ; I was  confused.  Indeed  I knew  not  what  he  said  ; 
but  he  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  I became  so  disconcerted,  so 
frightened  at  the  idea  of  his  having  attributed  my  conduct  to 
indelicacy,  or  forwardness,  that  I answered  something  which 
offended  him,  and  I am  sure  he  now  thinks  me  unfeeling  and 
proud.” 

Sir  Robert  kissed  her  throbbing  forehead,  as  she  ended 
this  rapid  and  hardly-articulated  explanation. 

Tell  me  candidly,  my  dearest  Mary  ! ” rejoined  the  baronet, 
“ can  you  believe  that  a man  of  Sobieski’s  disposition  would 
bend  his  knee  to  a woman  whom  he  did  not  both  respect  and 
love  ? Simple  gratitude,  my  dear  girl,  is  not  so  earnest.  You 
have  said  enough  to  convince  me,  whatever  may  be  your  senti- 
ments, that  you  are  the  mistress  of  his  fate  ; and  if  he  should 
mention  it  to  me,  may  I describe  to  him  the  scene  which  has 
now  passed  between  us  ? May  I tell  him  that  its  just  infer- 
ence would  requite  his  tenderness  with  more  than  your  thanks 
and  best  wishes  ? ” 

Miss  Beaufort,  who  believed  that  the  count  must  now  despise 
her,  looked  down  to  conceal  the  wretchedness  which  spoke 
through  her  eyes,  and  with  a half-suppressed  sigh,  answered, 
I will  not  deny  that  I deeply  esteem  the  Count  Sobieski.  I 
admired  his  character  before  I saw  him,  and  when  I did  see 
him,  although  ignorant  that  it  was  he,  the  impression  seemed 
the  same.  Yet  I never  aspired  to  any  place  in  his  heart,  or 
even  his  remembrance : I could  not  have  the  presumption. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  Am 


411 

Therefore,  my  dear  uncle,”  added  she,  laying  her  trembling 
hand  on  his  arm,  “ I beseech  you,  as  you  value  my  feelings, 
my  peace  of  mind,  never  to  breathe  a syllable  of  my  weakness 
to  him.  I think,”  added  she,  clasping  her  hands  with  energy, 
and  forgetting  the  force  of  her  expression,  “ I would  sooner 
suffer  death  than  lose  his  respect.” 

“And  yet,”  inquired  Sir  Robert,  “you  will  at  some  future 
period  give  your  hand  to  another  man  ? ” 

Mary,  who  did  not  consider  the  extent  of  this  insidious 
question,  answered  with  fervor,  “ Never  ! I never  can  be  hap- 
pier than  I am,”  added  she,  with  breathless  haste.  Seeing, 
by  the  smile  on  Sir  Robert’s  lips,  that  far  more  had  been  de- 
clared by  her  manner  than  her  words  intended,  and  fearful  of 
betraying  herself  further,  she  begged  permission  to  retire  to 
the  house. 

The  baronet  took  her  hand,  and’  reseating  her  by  him,  con- 
tinued, “ No,  my  Mary  j you  shall  not  leave  me  unless  you 
honestly  avow  what  your  sentiments  are  towards  the  Count  So- 
bieski.  You  know,  my  sweet  girl,  that  I have  tried  to  make 
you  regard  me  as  a father — to  induce  you  to  receive  from  my 
love  the  treble  affection  of  your  deceased  parents  and  my 
lamented  wife.  If  her  dear  niece  do  not  deny  this,  she  cannot 
treat  me  with  reserve.” 

Miss  Beaufort  was  unable  to  speak.  Sir  Robert  proceeded  : 

I will  not  overwhelm  your  shrinking  delicacy  by  repeating 
the  inquiry  whether  I have  mistaken  the  source  of  your  recent 
and  present  emotion  j only  allow  me  to  bestow  some  encourage- 
ment on  the  count  s attachment,  should  he  claim  mv  services 
in  its  behalf.”  ^ 

Mary  drew  her  uncle^s  hand  to  her  lips,  and  whilst  her 
dropping  tears  fell  upon  it,  she  threw  herself,  like  a confiding 
child,  on  her  knees,  and  replied  in  a timid  voice  : “ I should 
be  a monster  of  ingratitude  could  I hide  anything  from  you, 
my  dearest  sir,  after  this  goodness  ! I confess  that  I do  re- 
gard the  Count  Sobieski  more  than  any  being  on  earth.  Who 
could  see  and  know  him  and  think  it  possible  to  become  an- 
other’s ” 

And  you  shall  be  his,  my  darling  Marv  ! ” cried  the  baro- 
net, mingling  his  own  blissful  tears  with  hers.  I once  hoped 
to  have  contrived  an  attachment  between  you  and  Pembroke, 
but  Heaven  has  decreed  it  better.  When  you  and  Thaddeus 
are  united,  I shall  be  happy  ; I may  then  die  in  peace.” 

Miss  Beaufort  sighed  heavily.  She  could  iK)t  yet  quite 
participate  in  h^r  uncle’s  rapture.  She  thought  that  she  had 


412 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


insulted  and  disgusted  the  count  by  her  late  behavior,  beyond 
his  excuse,  and  was  opening  her  lips  to  urge  it  again,  when  the 
object  of  their  conversation  appeared  at  a short  distance,  com- 
ing towards  them. 

Full  of  renewed  trepidation,  she  burst  from  the  baronet’s 
hand,  and  taking  to  flight,  left  her  uncle  to  meet  Sobieski  alone. 

Sir  Robert’s  anxious  question  on  the  same  subject  received 
a more  rapid  reply  from  Thaddeus  than  had  proceeded  from 
the  reluctant  Miss  Beaufort.  The  animated  gratitude  of  So- 
bieski, the  ardent  yet  respectful  manner  with  which  he  avowed 
her  eminence  in  his  heart  above  all  other  women,  convinced 
the  baronet  that  Mary’s  retreating  delicacy  had  misinformed 
her.  A complete  explanation  was  the  consequence  ; and  Thad- 
deus, who  had  not  been  more  sanguine  in  his  hopes  than  was 
his  lovely  mistress  in  hers,  now  allowed  the  clouds  over  his  so 
lately  darkened  eyes  to  disappear. 

Impatient  to  see  these  two  beings,  so  dear  to  his  soul,  re- 
pose confidently  in  each  other’s  affection,  the  moment  Sir 
Robert  returned  to  the  house,  he  asked  his  sister  for  Miss 
Beaufort.  Miss  Dorothy  replied  that  she  had  seen  her  about 
half  an  hour  ago  retire  to  her  own  apartments  \ the  baronet, 
therefore,  sent  a servant  to  beg  that  she  would  meet  him  in  the 
library. 

This  message  found  her  in  a paroxysm  of  distress.  She 
reproached  herself  for  her  imprudence,  her  temerity,  her  un- 
womanly conduct,  in  having  given  away  her  heart  to  a man  who 
she  again  began  to  torment  herself  by  believing  had  never  de- 
sired it.  She  remembered  that  her  weakness,  not  her  sincerity, 
had  betrayed  this  humiliating  secret  to  Sir  Robert ; and  nearly 
distracted,  she  lay  on  the  bed,  almost  hoping  that  she  was  in  a 
miserable  dream,  when  her  maid  entered  with  the  baronet’s 
commands. 

Disdaining  herself,  and  determining  to  regain  some  portion 
of  her  own  respect  by  steadily  opposing  all  her  uncle’s  delud- 
ing hopes,  with  an  assumed  serenity  she  arrived  at  the  study- 
door.  She  laid  her  hand  on  the  lock,  but  the  moment  it  yielded 
to  her  touch,  all  her  firmness  vanished.  Trembling,  and  pale 
as  death,  she  appeared  before  him. 

Sir  Robert,  having  supported  her  to  a chair,  with  the  most 
affectionate  and  tender  expressions  of  paternal  exultation  re- 
peated to  her  the  sum  of  his  conversation  with  the  count. 
Mary  was  almost  wild  at  this  discourse.  So  inconsistent  and 
erratic  is  the  passion  of  love,  when  it  reigns  in  woman’s  breast, 
she  forgot  in  an  instant  the  looks  and  voice  of  Thaddeus ; she 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


413 


forgot  her  terror  of  having  forfeited  his  affection  by  her  affected 
coldness  alone  ; and  dreading  that  the  first  proposal  of  their 
union  had  proceeded  from  her  uncle,  she  buried  her  agitated 
face  in  her  hands,  and  exclaimed,  ‘‘  O sir  ! I fear  that  you  have 
made  me  forever  hateful  in  my  own  eyes  and  despicable  in 
those  of  the  Count  Sobieski ! ’’ 

Sir  Robert  looked  on  her  emotion  with  a smiling  but  a pity- 
ing gaze,  reading  in  all  the  unaffected  apprehensive  modesty  of 
that  noble  maiden^s  heart. 

‘‘  Well,’’  cried  he,  in  a gentle  raillery  of  tone,  “ my  own  be- 
loved one  ! if  thy  guardian  uncle  cannot  prevail  over  this  way- 
ward fancifulness,  so  unlike  his  ingenuous  Mary’s  usual  fair 
dealing  with  the  truth  of  others,  I must  call  in  even  a better- 
accredited  pleader,  and  shall  then  leave  my  object,  the  balance 
of  justice  and  mercy,  in  equally  beloved  hands.” 

While  he  spoke,  he  rose  and  opened  a door  that  led  to  an 
adjoining  room.  Miss  Beaufort  would  have  flown  through  an- 
other had  not  Sir  Robert  suddenly  stood  in  her  way.  He  threw 
his  arm  about  her,  and  turning  round,  she  saw  the  count,  who 
had  entered,  regarding  her  with  an  anxiety  which  covered  her 
before  pale  features  with  blushes. 

His  father  bade  him  come  near.  Sobieski  obeyed,  though 
with  a step  that  expressed  how  reluctant  he  was  to  oppress  the 
woman  he  so  truly  loved.  Mary’s  face  was  now  hidden  in  her 
uncle’s  bosom.  Sir  Robert  put  her  trembling  hand  into  that 
of  his  son,  who,  dropping  on  his  knee,  said,  in  an  agitated  voice, 
‘‘  Honored,  dearest  Miss  Beaufort  ! may  I indulge  myself  in 
the  idea  that  I am  blessed  with  your  regard  ? ” 

She  could  not  reply,  but  whispered  to  her  uncle,  ‘‘  Pray,  sir, 
desire  him  to  rise  ! I am  overwhelmed.” 

‘‘  My  sweet  Mary  ! ” returned  the  baronet,  pressing  her  to 
his  breast,  “ this  is  no  time  for  deception  on  either  side.  I 
know  both  your  hearts.  Rise,  Thaddeus,”  said  he  to  the  count, 
whilst  he  locked  both  their  hands  within  his.  “Take  him, 
Mary  ! Receive  from  your  guardian  his  most  precious  gift — 
my  matchless  and  injured  son.” 

The  abruptness  of  the  first  part  of  this  speech  might  have 
shocked  her  exhausted  spirits  to  insensibility,  had  not  the  ex- 
traordinary assertion  at  its  end,  and  Sir  Robert’s  audible  sobs, 
aroused  and  surprised  her. 

“Your  son!”  exclaimed  she;  “what  do  you  mean,  my 
uncle?”' 

“ Thaddeus  will  explain  all  to  you,”  returned  he.  “ May 
Heaven  bless  you  both  ! ” 


414 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


Mary  was  too  much  astonished  to  think  of  following  her 
agitated  uncle  out  of  the  room.  She  sunk  on  a seat,  and  turn- 
ing her  gaze  full  of  amazement  towards  the  count,  seemed  to 
ask  an  explanation.  Thaddeus,  who  still  retained  her  passive 
hand,  pressed  it  warmly  to  his  heart ; and  whilst  his  effulgent 
eyes  were  beaming  on  her  with  joyous  love,  he  imparted  to  her 
a concise  but  impressive  narrative  of  his  relationship  with  Sir 
Robert.  He  touched  with  short  yet  deep  enthusiasm,  with 
more  than  one  tearful  pause,  on  the  virtues  of  his  mother ; he 
acknowledged  the  unbounded  gratitude  which  was  due  to  that 
God  who  had  so  wonderfully  conducted  him  to  find  a parent 
and  a home  in  England,  and  with  renewed  pathos  of  look  and 
manner  ratified  the  proffer  which  Sir  Robert  had  made  of  his 
heart  and  hand  to  her  who  alone  on  this  earth  had  reminded 
him  of  that  angelic  oarent.  I have  seen  her  beloved  face, 
luminous  in  purity  and  tender  pity,  reflected  in  yours,  ever- 
honored  Miss  Beaufort,  when  your  noble  heart,  more  than  once, 
looked  in  compassion  on  her  son.  And  I then  felt,  with  a 
wondering  bewilderment,  a sacred  response  in  my  soul,  though 
I could  not  explain  it  to  myself.  But  since  then  that  sister 
spirit  of  my  mother  has  often  whispered  it  as  if  direct  from 
heaven.’’ 

Mary  had  listened  with  uncontrollable  emotion  to  this  in- 
teresting detail.  Her  eyes  overflowed : their  ingenuous  lan- 
guage, enforced  by  the  warm  blood  which  glowed  on  her  cheek, 
did  not  require  the  medium  of  words  to  declare  what  was  pass- 
ing in  her  mind.  Thaddeus  gazed  on  her  with  a certainty  of 
bliss  which  penetrated  his  soul  until  its  raptures  almost  amounted 
to  pain.  The  heart  may  ache  with  joy  ; neither  sighs  nor  lan- 
guage could  express  what  passed  in  his  mind.  He  held  her 
hand  to  his  lips  ; his  other  arm  fell  unconsciously  routid  her 
waist,  and  in  a moment  he  found  that  he  had  pressed  her  to 
his  breast.  His  heart  beat  violently.  Miss  Beaufort  rose  in- 
stantaneously from  her  chair  ; but  her  pure  nature  needed  no 
disguise.  She  looked  up  to  him,  whilst  her  blushing  eyes  were 
shedding  tears  of  delight,  and  said  in  a trembling  voice  : “ Tell 
my  dear  uncle  that  Mary  Beaufort  glories  in  the  means  by  which 
she  becomes  his  daughter.” 

She  moved  to  fhe  door.  Thaddeus,  whose  full  tide  of  trans- 
port denied  him  utterance,  only  clasped  her  hands  again  to  his 
lips  and  bosom ; then,  relinquishing  them,  he  suffered  her  to 
quit  the  room. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


41S 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

A FAMILY  PARTY. 

The  magnificent  establishment  which  this  projected  union 
offered  to  Sobieski  seemed  to  heal  the  yet  bleeding  conscience 
of  Sir  Robert  Somerset.  Although  he  had  acquiesced  in  the 
count’s  generous  surrender  of  the  family-inherited  honors,  his 
heart  remained  still  ill  at  ease.  Every  dutiful  expression  from 
his  long-neglected  son  at  times  had  stung  him  with  remorse. 
But  Miss  Beaufort’s  avowed  and  returned  affection  at  once  re- 
moved the  lingering  accuser  from  his  bosom.  Mistress  of  im- 
mense wealth,  her  hand  would  not  only  put  the  injured  Thad- 
deus  in  possession  of  the  pure  delights  whicli  only  a mutual 
sympathy  can  bestow,  but  would  enable  his  munificent  spirit  to 
again  exert  itself  in  the  worthy  disposal  of  an  almost  princely 
fortune. 

Such  meditations  having  followed  the  now  tranquillized 
baronet  to  his  pillow,  they  brought  him  into  the  breakfast- 
parlor  next  day  full  of  that  calm  pleasure  which  promises  a 
steady  continuance.  The  happy  family  were  assembled.  Miss 
Dorothy  saluted  her  brother,  whose  brightened  eye  declared 
that  he  had  something  pleasant  to  communicate  ; and  he  did 
not  keep  her  in  suspense.  With  the  first  cup  of  coffee  the  good 
lady  poured  out,  his  grateful  heart  unburdened  itself  of  the  de- 
lightful tidings  that  ere  many  months,  perhaps  weeks,  he  had 
reason  to  hope  Miss  Beaufort  would  give  her  hand  to  the  Count 
Sobieski.  Pembroke  was  the  only  hearer  who  did  not  evince 
surprise  at  this  announcement.  Every  one  else  had  been  kept 
uninformed,  on  the  especial  injunction  of  Sir  Robert,  who  de- 
sired its  knowledge  to  be  withheld  till  he  had  completed  some 
necessary  preliminaries  in  his  mind.  But  Thaddeus,  by  the 
permission  of  the  happy  parent,  during  a long  and  interesting 
conversation  in  his  library,  which  passed  between  the  father 
'and  his  new-found  son,  immediately  after  the  latter’s  blissful 
parting  with  his  then  heart-affianced  Mary,  had  hastened  to  his 
brother,  and  retiring  with  him  to  his  little  study,  there  communi- 
cated, in  full  and  enraptured  confidence,  the  whole  events  of 
the  recent  mutual  explanations. 

During  Sir  Robert’s  animated  disclosure,  Mary’s  blushing 
yet  grateful  eyes  sought  a veil  in  a branch  of  geranium  which 
she  held  in  her  trembling  hand. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W.  ‘ 


416 

Miss  Dorothy  rose  from  her  chair ; her  smiling  tears  spoke 
more  than  her  lips  when  she  pressed  first  her  niece  and  then  the 
Count  Sobieski  in  her  venerable  arms. 

‘‘  Heaven  bless  you  both  ! cried  she.  “ This  marriage  will 
be  the  glory  of  my  age.’’ 

Miss  Beaufort  turned  from  the  embrace  of  her  aunt  to  meet 
the  warm  congratulations  of  Pembroke.  Whilst  he  kissed  her 
burning  cheek,  he  whispered,  loud  enough  for  every  one  to  hear, 
‘‘  And  why  may  I not  brighten  in  my  good  aunt’s  triumph  ? At- 
tempt it,  dear  Mary  ! If  you  can  persuade  my  father  to  allow 
me  to  make  myself  as  happy  with  Lady  Albina  Stanhope  as  you 
will  render  Sobieski,  I shall  forever  bless  you  ! ” 

Lady  Albina  colored  and  looked  down.  Sir  Robert  took 
her  hand  with  pleased  surprise.  Do  you,  my  lovely  guest — 
do  you  sanction  what  this  bold  boy  has  just  said  ? ” 

Lady  Albina  made  no  answer  ; but,  blushing  deeper  than 
before,  cast  a sidelong  glance  at  Pembroke,  as  if  to  petition  his 
support.  He  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant ; then  seriously  and 
earnestly  entreating  his  father’s  consent  to  an  union  with  their 
gentle  kinswoman  (whose  approbation  he  had  obtained  the 
preceding  day  in  the  shepherd’s  hut),  he  awaited  with  anxiety 
the  sounds  which  seemed  faltering  on  Sir  Robert’s  lips. 

The  baronet,  quite  overcome  by  his  ever-beloved  Pembroke 
having,  like  his  brother,  disposed  of  his  heart  so  much  to  his 
own  honor,  found  himself  unable  to  say  what  he  wished.  Join- 
ing the  hands  of  the  two  young  people  in  silence,  he  hurried 
out  of  the  room.  He  ascended  to  the  library,  where  kneeling 
down,  he  returned  devout  thanks  to  that  all-gracious  Being  who 
had  crowned  one  so  unworthy  with  blessings  so  conspicuous.” 

Thaddeus,  no  less  than  his  father,  remembered  the  hand 
which,  having  guided  him  through  a sharply-beset  wilderness  ot 
sorrow,  had  in  so  short  a term  conducted  him  to  an  Eden  of 
bliss.  Long  afterwards,  when  years  had  passed  over  his  happy 
head,  and  his  days  became  dedicated  to  various  important 
duties,  public  and  private,  attendant  on  his  station  in ' life  and 
the  landed  power  he  held  in  his  adopted  country,  never  did  he 
forget  that  he  was  ‘‘  only  a steward  of  the  world’s  Benefactor  ! ” 
The  sense  of  whose  deputy  he  was  gave  to  his  heart  a grateful 
conviction  that  in  whatever  spot  he  might  be  so  placed,  he  was 
to  consider  it  as  his  country  ! — the  Canaan  of  his  commission. 

Before  the  lapse  of  a week,  it  became  expedient  that  Sir 
Robert  should  hasten  the  marriage  of  Pembroke  with  Lady 
Albina,  or  be  forced  by  law  to  yield  her  to  the  demands  of  her 
father.  After  much  search,  Lord  Tinemouth  had  discovered 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


417 


that  his  daughter  was  under  the  protection  of  Sir  Robert  Som- 
erset. Inflamed  with  rage  and  revenge,  he  sent  to  order  her 
immediate  return,  under  pain  of  an  instantaneous  appeal  to  the 
courts  of  judicature. 

Too  well  aware  that  her  nonage  laid  her  open  to  the  realiza- 
tion of  this  threat,  Lady  Albina  fell  into  the  most  alarming 
swoonings  on  the  first  communication  of  the  message.  Sir 
Robert  urged  that  in  her  circumstances  no  authority  could  be 
opposed  to  the  earl’s  excepting  that  of  a husband’s  ; and  on 
this  consideration  she  complied  with  his  arguments  and  the 
prayers  of  her  lover,  to  directly  give  that  power  into  the  hands 
of  Pembroke. 

Accordingly,  with  as  little  delay  as  possible,  accompanied 
by  Miss  Dorothy  and  the  enraptured  Mr.  Somerset,  the  terri- 
fied Lady  Albina  commenced  her  journey  to  Scotland,  that 
being  the  only  place  where,  in  her  situation,  the  marriage  could 
be  legally  solemnized.  A clerical  friend  of  the  baronet’s,  who 
dwelt  just  over  the  borders,  could  perform  the  rite  with  every 
proper  respect. 

Whilst  these  young  runaways,  chaperoned  by  an  old  maiden 
aunt,  were  pursuing  their  rapid  flight  across  the  Tweed,  Sir 
Robert  sent  his  steward  to  London  to  prepare  a house  near  his 
own  in  Grosvenor  Square  for  the  reception  of  the  bridal  pair. 
During  these  necessary  arrangements,  a happy  fortnight  elapsed 
at  Deerhurst — thrice  happy  to  Mary,  because  its  tranquil  hours 
imparted  to  her  long-doubting  heart  “a  sober  certainty  of  that 
waking  bliss  ” which  had  so  often  animated  with  hope  the 
visions  of  her  imagination,  when  contemplating  the  mystery  of 
such  a mind  as  that  of  Thaddeus  having  been  destined  to  the 
humble  lot  in  which  she  had  found  him.  Morning,  noon,  and 
evening  the  loving  companion  of  the  Count  Sobieski,  she  saw 
with  deepened  devotedness  that  the  brave  and  princely  virtues 
did  not  reign  alone  in  his  bosom.  Their  full  lustre  was  ren- 
dered less  intense  by  the  softening  shades  of  those  gentler 
amenities  which  are  the  soothers  and  sweeteners  of  life.  His 
breast  seemed  the  residence  of  love — of  a love  that  not  only 
infused  a warmer  existence  through  her  soul,  but  diffused  such 
a light  of  benevolence  over  every  being  within  its  influence, 
that  all  appeared  happy  who  caught  a beam  of  his  eye — all  en- 
chanted who  shared  the  magic  of  his  smile.  Under  what  dif- 
ferent aspects  had  she  seen  this  man  ! Yet  how  consistent  ! 
At  the  first  period  of  their  acquaintance,  she  beheld  him,  like 
that  glorious  orb  which  her  ardent  fancy  told  her  he  resembled, 
struggling  with  the  storm,  or  looking  dimmed,  yet  unmoved, 


4i8 


THADDEUS  OF  IVARSAIV. 


through  the  clouds  which  obscured  his  path ; but  now,  like  the 
radiant  sun  of  summer  amidst  a splendid  sky,  he  seemed  to 
stand  the  source  of  light,  and  love,  and  joy. 

Thus  did  the  warm  fancy  and  warmer  heart  of  Mary  Beau- 
fort paint  the  image  of  her  lover ; and  when  Sir  Robert  re- 
ceived intelligence  that  the  Scottish  party  had  arrived  in  town, 
and  were  impatient  for  the  company  of  the  beloved  inhabitants 
of  Deerhurst,  while  preparing  to  revisit  the  proud  and  gay 
world,  she  confessed  that  some  embers  of  human  pride  did 
sparkle  in  her  own  bosom  at  the  anticipation  of  witnessing  the 
homage  which  they  who  had  despised  the  unfriended  Constan- 
tine would  pay  to  the  declared  and  illustrious  Sobieski. 

The  news  of  Lady  Albina’s  marriage  infuriated  the  Earl  of 
Tinemouth  almost  to  frenzy.  Well  assured  that  his  withholding 
her  fortune  would  occasion  no  vexation  to  a familv  of  Sir  Rob- 
ert Somerset’s  vast  possessions,  he  gave  way  to  still  more  ve- 
hement bursts  of  passion,  and  in  a fit  of  impotent  threatening 
embarked  with  all  his  household  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the 
season  on  his  much-disregarded  estates  in  Ireland. 

This  abrupt  departure  of  the  earl  caused  Lady  Albina  little 
uneasiness.  His  unremitted  cruelty,  her  brother’s  indifference, 
and  the  barbed  insults  of  Lady  Olivia  Lovel,  now  the  earl’s 
wife,  rankled  too  deeply  in  the  daughter’s  bosom  to  leave  any 
filial  regret  behind.  Considering  their  absence  a suspension 
of  pain  rather  than  a punishment,  she  did  not  stain  the  kiss 
which  she  imprinted  on  the  revered  cheek  of  her  new  parent 
with  one  tear  to  the  memory  of  her  unnatural  father. 

Whilst  all  was  splendor  and  happiness  in  Grosvenor  Square, 
Thaddeus  did  not  forget  the  excellent  Mrs.  Robson.  He  has- 
tened to  St.  Martin’s  Lane,  where  the  good  woman  received  him 
with  open  arms.  Nanny  hung,  crying  for  joy,  upon  his  hand, 
and  sprung  rapturously  about  his  neck  when  he  told  her  he 
was  now  a rich  man,  and  that  she  and  her  grandmother  should 
live  with  him  forever.  ‘‘  I am  going  to  be  married,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Robson,”  said  he  ; “ that  ministering  angel  who  visited 
you  when  I was  in  prison  was  sent  to  wipe  away  the  tears  from 
my  eyes.”  Drying  the  cheek  of  his  weeping  landlady,  while 
he  spoke,  with  his  own  handkerchief,  he  continued : — “ She 
commanded  me  not  to  leave  you  until  you  had  assured  me  that 
you  will  brighten  our  happiness  by  taking  possession  of  a pretty 
cottage  close  to  her  house  in  Kent.  It  is  within  Beaufort 
Park,  and  there  my  Mary  and  myself  will  visit  you  contin- 
ually.” 

“ Blessed  Mr.  Constantine  ! ” cried  the  worthy  woman,  press- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A W. 


419 


ing  his  hand;  ‘‘myself,  my  Nanny,  we  are  yours  ; — take  us 
where  you  please,  for  wherever  you  go,  there  will  the  Al- 
mighty’s hand  lead  us,  and  there  will  his  right  hand  hold  us.” 

The  count  rose  and  turned  to  the  window ; his  heart  was 
full,  and  he  was  obliged  to  take  time  to  recover  himself  before 
he  could  resume  the  conversation.  He  saw  her  twice  after 
this ; and  on  the  day  of  her  departure  for  Kent,  to  await  in 
her  own  new  home  his  and  his  Mary’s  arrival  there,  he  put  into 
her  hand  the  first  quarterly  payment  of  an  annuity  which  would 
henceforward  afford  her  every  comfort,  and  raise  her  to  that 
easy  rank  in  society  which  her  gentle  manners  and  rare  virtues 
were  so  admirably  fitted  to  adorn.  Neither  did  he  neglect  Mr. 
Burket.  It  was  not  in  his  nature  to  allow  any  one  who  served 
him  to  pass  unrewarded.  He  called  on  him  on  the  last  day  he 
visited  St.  Martin’s  Lane,  (when  Mrs.  Watts,  too,  shared  his 
bounty,)  and  having  repaid  him  with  a generosity  which  aston- 
ished the  good  money-lender,  he  took  back  his  sword,  and  the 
venerated  old  seals  he  had  left  with  Mrs.  Robson  to  get  re- 
paired by  the  same  honest  hand ; also  the  other  precious  relics 
he  had  had  refitted  to  their  original  settings,  and  pressing  them 
mournfully  yet  gratefully  to  his  breast,  re-entered  Sir  Robert’s 
carriage  to  drive  home..  What  bliss  to  his  heart  was  in  that 
word  1 

Next  day  Thaddeus  directed  his  steps  to  Dr.  Cavendish’s. 
He  found  his  worthy  friend  at  home,  who  received  him  with 
kindness.  But  how  was  that  kindness  increased  to  transport 
when  Thaddeus  told  him,  with  a smiling  countenance,*  that  he 
was  the  very  Sobieski  about  whose  wayward  fate  he  had  asked 
so  many  ill-answered  questions.  The  delighted  doctor  em- 
braced him  with  an  ardor  which  spoke  better  than  language  his 
admiration  and  esteem.  His  amazement  having  subsided,  he 
was  discoursing  with  animated  interest  on  events  at  once  so 
fatal  and  so  glorious  to  Sobieski,  when  a gentleman  was  an- 
nounced by  the  name  of  Mr.  Hopetown.  He  entered  ; and  Dr. 
Cavendish  at  the  same  time  introducing  Thaddeus  as  the  Count 
Sobieski,  Mr.  Hopetown  fixed  his  eyes  upon  him  with  an  ex- 
pression which  neither  of  the  friends  could  comprehend.  A 
little  disconcerted  at  the  merchant’s  seeming  rudeness,  the 
good  doctor  attempted  to  draw  off  the  steadiness  of  his  gaze 
by  asking  how  long  he  had  been  in  England. 

“ I left  Dantzic,”  replied  he,  “ about  three  weeks  ago ; and 
I should  have  been  in  London  five  days  since,  but  a favorite 
horse  of  mine,  which  I brought  with  me,  fell  sick  at  Harwick, 
and  I waited  until  he  was  well  enough  to  travel.’ 


420 


TI/ADDEUS  OF  PFAFSA IV. 


Whilst  he  spoke  he  never  withdrew  his  eyes  from  the  face 
of  Thaddeus,  who  at  the  words  Dantzic  and  horse  recollected 
his  faithful  Saladin  ; almost  hoping  that  this  Mr.  Hopetown 
might  prove  to  be  the  Briton  to  whom  he  had  consigned  the 
noble  animal,  he  took  a part  in  the  conversation  by  inquiring 
of  the  merchant  whether  he  were  a resident  of  Dantzic. 

“ No,  your  excellency,”  replied  he ; “ I live  within  a mile 
of  it.  Several  years  ago  I quitted  the  smoke  and  bustle  of  the 
town  to  enjoy  fresh  air  and  quiet.” 

‘‘  Last  year,”  rejoined  Sobieski,  I passed  through  Dant- 
zic on  my  way  to  England.  I believe  I saw  your  house,  and 
remarked  its  situation.  The  park  is  beautiful.” 

And  I am  indebted,  count,”  resumed  the  merchant,  ‘‘  to  a 
nobleman  of  your  country  for  its  finest  ornament  : I mean  the 
very  horse  I spoke  of  just  now.  He  was  sent  to  me  one  morn- 
ing, with  a letter  from  his  brave  owner,  requesting  me  to  give 
him  shelter  in  my  park.  He  is  the  most  beautiful  animal  I 
ever  beheld.  Unwilling  to  leave  behind  so  valuable  a deposit, 
when  I came  to  England  I brought  him  with  me.” 

‘‘  Poor  Saladin ! ” cried  Thaddeus,  his  heart  overflowing 
with  remembrance  ; ‘‘  how  glad  I shall  be  to  see  thee  ! ” 

What ! was  the  horse  yours  ? ” asked  Dr.  Cavendish,  sur- 
prised at  this  apostrophe. 

“Yes,”  returned  Thaddeus,  “he  was  mine  ! and  I owe  to 
Mr.  Hopetown  a thousand  thanks  for  his  generous  acquies- 
cence with  the  prayers  of  an  unfortunate  stranger.” 

“ No  thanks  to  me.  Count  Sobieski.  The  moment  I en- 
tered this  room,  I recollected  you  to  be  the  same  Polish  officer 
I had  observed  on  the  beach  at  Dantzic.  When  I described 
your  figure  to  the  man' who  brought  the  horse,  he  said  it  was 
the  same  who  gave  him  the  letter.  I could  not  learn  your  ex- 
cellency’s name  ; but  I hoped  one  day  or  other  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  you  again,  and  of  returning  Saladin  into 
your  hands  in  as  good  condition  as  when  he  came  to  mine.” 

Tears  started  into  the  eyes  of  Thaddeus. 

“ That  horse,  Mr.  Hopetown,  has  carried  me  through  many 
a bloody  field  ; he  alone  witnessed  my  last  adieu  to  the  bleed- 
ing corpse  of  my  country ! I shall  receive  him  again  as  an  old 
and  dear  friend ; but  to  his  kind  protector,  how  can  I ever 
demonstrate  the  whole  of  my  gratitude  ? ” * 

* The  love  of  Thaddeus  to  his  horse  has  had  some  resemblances  in  the  author’s  knowl- 
edge in  yet  more  recent  times.  It  seems  to  belong  to  the  brave  heart  of  every  country  in 
our  civilized  Europe,  as  well  as  in  that  of  the  wild  Arab  of  the  desert,  to  companion  itself 
with  his  war-steed  as  with  a friend  or  brother.  I knew  more  than  ore  gallant  man  who 
wept  over  the  doom  of  his  old  charger  when  shot  in  the  lines  near  Corunna;  and  another,  of 


THADDEUS  OF  IVARSAIV. 


421 


To  have  had  it  in  my  power  to  serve  the  Count  Sobieski 
is  a privilege  of  itself,”  returned  Mr.  Hopetown.  “ I am  proud 
of  that  distinction  ; to  be  called  the  friend  of  a man  who  all 
the  world  honors  will  be  a title  which  John  Hopetown  may  be 
proud  of.” 

Before  the  worthy  merchant  took  his  leave,  he  promised 
Thaddeus  to  send  Saladin  to  Grosvenor  Square  that  evening, 
and  accepted  his  invitation  to  meet  him  and  Dr.  Cavendish  the 
following  day  at  dinner  at  Mr.  Somerset's. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

“ If  I forget  thee,  O Jerusalem,  let  my  right  hand  forget  her  cunning.” 

Lady  Albina  Somerset’s  arrival  in  London  was  greeted  by 
the  immediate  visits  of  all  the  persons  in  town  who  had  been 
esteemed  by  the  late  Countess  of  Tinemouth,  or  on  intimate 
terms  with  the  baronet’s  family.  It  was  not  the  gay  season  for 
the  metropolis.  Amongst  the  earliest  names  that  appeared  at 
her  door  were  those  of  Lord  Berrington,  the  Hon.  Captain  and 
Mrs.  Montresor,  and  the  Rev.  Dr.  Blackmore.  Under  any 
circumstances,  either  in  the  country  or  in  town,  Mr.  Somerset 
and  his  young  bride  did  not  propose  opening  their  gates  to 
more  general  acquaintances  until  Miss  Beaufort  and  the  count 
were  married,  and  both  bridal  parties  had  been  presented  at 
court  in  the  spring.  To  this  little  select  group  of  friends  who 
were  to  assemble  round  Mr.  Somerset’s  table  on  the  appointed 
day,  Thaddeus  informed  him,  with  frank  pleasure,  that  he  had 
taken  the  liberty  of  adding  Dr.  Cavendish  and  Mr.  Hopetown 
of  Dantzic. 

Lady  Albina  received  the  two  strangers  with  graceful  hos- 
pitality. The  affianced  Mary,  with  an  equally  blushing  grace, 
presented  her  hand  to  the  generous  protector  of  Saladin,  ac- 
companying the  action  with  a modest  acknowledgment  of  her 

the  same  and  other  fields,  who  can  never  mention  without  turning  pale  the  name  of  his  faith- 
ful and  beloved  horse  Columbus,  who  had  carried  him  through  various  dangers  on  the  South 
American  continent,  and  at  last  perished  by  his  side  during  a tremendous  storm  at  sea, 
when  no  exertions  of  his  master  could  save  him.  These  are  pangs  of  which  only  those  who 
have  the  generous  sensibility  to  feel  them  can  have  any  idea.  But  they  are  true  to  the 
noble  nature  of  which  the  inspired  page  speaks  when  it  says,  “ The  just  man  is  merciful  to 
his  beast.” — 1822. 

The  benignant  master  of  the  regretted  Columbian  steed  was  the  late  Sir  R.  K.  Porter, 
the  lamented  brother  of  the  yet  surviving  writer  of  the  preceding  note. — 1845. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


422 

interest  in  an  animal  so  deservedly  dear  to  the  Count  Sobieski. 
He  had  turned  to  meet  Lord  Berrington  and  the  ever  lively 
Sophia  Egerton  (now  Mrs.  Montresor),  who  both  advanced  to 
him  at  the  same  instant,  to  express  their  gratulations  not  only 
at  seeing  him  again,  but  in  a situation  of  happy  promise,  so  con- 
sonant to  his  avowed  rank  and  personal  early  fame. 

Thaddeiis  replied  to  their  felicitations  with  a smiling  dignity, 
in  that  ingenuous  manner  peculiarly  his  own.  He  was  not  a 
little  surprised  when  Dr.  Blackmore  soon  after  recognized  him 
be  the  noble  foreigner  whose  appearance  had  so  much  excited 
his  attention,  about  a twelvemonth  ago,  at  the  Hummurns,  in 
Covent  Garden.  The  count  did  not  recollect  the  circumstance 
of  having  seen  the  good  doctor  there ; but  the  venerable  man 
recapitulated  the  scene  in  the  coffee-room  through  which  the 
count  had  passed,  describing,  with  no  little  animation,  “a 
pedantic-mannered  person,  dressed  in  black,  and  wearing 
spectacles  (whose  name  he  afterwards  learned  was  Loftus),  an 
M.A.  of  one  of  the  colleges,  who  took  the  liberty  to  make  sortie 
not  very  liberal  remarks  on  the  number  of  noble  strangers  then 
confiding  themselves  to  the  honorable  sanctuary  and  sympathy 
of  our  country.” 

Pembroke  could  hardly  hear  the  benevolent  speaker  to  the 
end ; stifling  any  audible  expression  of  his  re-awakened  indig- 
nation, he  whispered  to  the  baronet,  “ My  dear  father  ! recent 
happy  events  have  made  us  almost  forget  that  villain’s  base- 
ness ; but  I pray,  let  him  not  remain  another  week  a blot  upon 
our  house’s  escutcheon.” 

“ All  shall  be  done  as  you  wish,”  returned  his  father,  in  the 
same  subdued  tone  ; “ but  let  us  remember  how  much  of  that 
recent  happiness  the  goodness  of  Providence  hath  brought  out 
of  this  wretched  man’s  offence.  Were  I extreme  to  mark  what 
is  done  amiss,  how  could  I abide  the  sentence  that  might  be 
justly  pronounced  against  myself  ? To-morrow  we  will  talk 
over  this  matter,  and  settle  it,  I trust,  with  satisfaction  to  all 
parties.” 

Pembroke  gratefully  pressed  his  father’s  hand,  and  then, 
walking  up  the  room,  addressed  Mrs.  Montresor.  In  a few. 
minutes  her  brave  husband  joined  them.  While  talking  of  his 
late  victorious  and  happily-completed  homeward-bound  voyage, 
he  spoke  with  great  regret  of  the  threatened  absence  from 
England  of  his  late  colleague  on  the  battle-field  of  the  ocean, 
his  old  friend  Captain  Ross. 

‘‘  How — whither  is  he  going  ? ” asked  his  wife,  in  a tone  of 
interest. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


423 


Montresor  replied,  The  ill  state  of  Lady  Sara’s  health  re- 
quires a milder  air,  and  poor  Ross  means  to  take  her  without 
loss  of  time  to  Italy.  I met  him  this  morning,  in  despair  about 
the  suddenness  of  some  alarming  symptoms.” 

Thaddeus  too  well  divined  that  this  increased  indisposition 
owed  its  rise  to  his  vecent  return  to  town,  and  inwardly  peti- 
tioning Heaven  that  absence  and  her  husband’s  devoted  ten- 
derness might  complete  her  cure,  he  could  not  repress  a sigh, 
wrung  from  his  respectful  pity  towards  her,  in  this  deep  bosom- 
struggle  with  herself. 

No  one  present  except  the  future  partner  of  his  own  heart 
marked  the  transient  melancholy  which  passed  over  his  coun- 
tenance. She,  who  had  suspected  the  unhappy  Lady  Sara’s 
attachment,  loved  Thaddeus,  if  possible,  still  dearer  for  the 
compassion  he  bestowed  on  the  meek  penitence  of  the  un- 
happy victim  of  a passion  often  as  inscrutable  as  destructive. 

When  the  party  descended  to  dinner.  Miss  Dorothy,  who 
sat  next  to  the  Count  Sobieski,  rallied  him  upon  the  utter  de- 
sertion of  one  of  his  most  pertinacious  allies  or  adversaries — 
she  did  not  know  which  to  call  the  fair  delinquent.  “ For 
admiring  or  detesting  seemed  quite  the  same  to  some  ladies,  so 
they  did  but  show  their  power  of  mischief  over  any  poor  mortal 
man  they  found  in  their  way  ! ” 

This  strange  attack,  though  uttered  in  perfect  good  humor 
by  the  lively  old  lady,  following  so  closely  the  information 
relative  to  Lady  Sara  Ross,  summoned  a fervid  color  into  the 
count’s  face ; he  looked  surprised,  and  rather  confused,  at  the 
revered  speaker,  who  soon  gayly  related  what  she  had  been 
told  that  morning  by  ker  milliner,  of  “ Miss  Euphemia  Dundas 
being  on  the  point  of  marriage  with  a young  Scotch  nobleman 
in  Berwickshire  ; and  in  proof,  her  elegant  informant,  Madame 
de  Maradon,  was  making  the  bridal  trousseau.^' 

“So  much  the  better  for  all  straight- going  people,  ma  chere 
cried  Pembroke  ; “ little  Phemy  was  no  contemptible 
assailant  either  way.  Besides,”  added  he,  turning  airily  to  his 
own  gentle  bride,  “ you,  my  young  lady,  may  congratulate  your- 
self on  the  same  good  hope.  I hear  that  an  old  turf-comrade 
of  mine  is  going  to  take  her  loving  sister  off  my  hands.  Come, 
Lord  Berrington,  you  must  verify  my  report,  for  I learned  it 
from  you.” 

His  lordship  smiled,  and  answered  in  the  affirmative,  adding 
that  a friend  of  his  in  Lincolnshire,  had  written  to  him  as  most 
amusing  news,  “That  the  most  worthy  Orson,  heir  of  all  the 
lands,  tenements,  stables,  and  kennels  of  the  doughty  Sir 


TH A DDE  US  OF  WARSAW. 


424 

Helerand  Shafto,  of  that  ilk,  and  twenty  ilks  besides  north  of 
the  Humber,  had  been  discovered  by  the  wonderful  occult 
penetration  possessed  by  the  exceedingly  blue  sorceress-lady. 
Miss  Diana  Dundas  (of  as  many  ilks  north  of  the  Tweed),  to 
be  no  Orson  at  all ; but  her  very  veritable  Valentine,  to  whom 
she  was  now  preparing  to  give  her  fair  and  golden-garnished 
hand  in  the  course  of  the  forthcoming  month  ; that  is,  when  the 
season  of  hunting  and  shooting  is  past  and  gone,  and  the  chase- 
wearied  pair  may  turn  themselves,  with  their  blown  horses  and 
hounds,  to  a little  wholesome  rustication  in  their  homestead 
fields.’^ 

I would  not  be  their  companion  for  Nebuchadnezzar’s 
crown  ! ” reiterated  Pembroke,  laughing. 

Sobieski,  not  suppressing  the  smile  that  played  on  his  lip 
at  the  whimsical  description  given  by  Lord  Berrington’s  corre- 
spondent, wished  the  nuptials  happy,  as  far  as  the  parties  could 
comprehend  the  feeling.  The  viscount  in  return  protested  that 
their  Polish  friend  ‘‘  was  more  generous  than  just  in  such  a 
benediction.” 

I vow  to  heaven,”  cried  his  lordship.  “ that  I never  knew 
people  the  aim  of  whose  lives  seemed  so  bent  on  sly  mischief 
as  those  two  sisters.  Euphemia,  pretty  as  she  is,  is  better 
known  by  her  skill  in  tormenting  than  by  her  beauty.  And  as 
for  the  poor  squire  Diana  has  conjured  into  matrimony,  I have 
little  doubt  of  his  future  baited  fate  when  she  springs  her  dogs 
of  war  upon  that  petted  deer ! ” 

‘‘  Ah,  poor  fool ! ” exclaimed  Mrs.  Montresor,  “ I warrant 
he  will  not  escape  the  punishment  he  merits,  for  stepping  be- 
tween the  goddess  and  her  delectable  Endymion,  Lascelles.” 

“ Quarter  for  an  old  acquaintance  ! ” whispered  Miss  Beau- 
fort, in  a beseeching  voice. 

She  does  not  deserve  it  of  you ! ” returned  the  lady,  pur- 
suing her  ridiculous  game,  until  both  Miss  Dorothy  and  Sir 
Robert  petitioned  for  mercy  from  so  fair  a judge. 

Thaddeus,  who  possessed  not  the  disposition  to  exult  in  the 
misconduct  or  mischances  of  any  one  who  had  injured  him,  felt 
this  part  of  the  conversation  the  least  pleasant  on  that  happy 
day,  and  to  change  its  strain,  he,  in  his  turn,  whispered  to  his 
father  “ to  prevail  on  Lady  Albina  to  indulge  his  friend  Mr. 
Hopetown  by  singing  a few  passages  from  that  beautiful  ballad 
of  the  Scottish  borders,  ‘ Chevy  Chase,’  which  had  so  delighted 
their  own  family  party  the  preceding  evening.'^’ 

He  did  not  ask  this  “ charmed  resource  ” from  his  own  be- 
trothed, because  it  was  only  at  the  close  of  that  very  preceding 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


425 


evening  he  had  for  the  first  time  heard  her  voice,  in  sweetest 
melody,’’  chanting  forth  the  parting  anthem  for  the  night, 
‘‘From  the  ends  of  the  earth,  I will  call  upon  thee,  O Lord,” 
and  with  tones  of  a kindred  pathos,  too  thrilling  to  a son’s 
startled  ear  and  memory,  to  be  invoked  again  in  a mixed  com- 
pany. 

Strange,  indeed,  it  might  be,  but  it  was  a sacred  balm  to  his 
soul  when  these  recurring  remembrances  discovered  to  his 
heart  in  the  young  and  lovely  future  partner  of  his  life  a bond 
of  union  with  that  angelic  mother  who  had  given  him  being ; 
and  perhaps  this  devoted  filial  heart  alone  could  appreciate  the 
joy,  the  comfort,  the  bliss  of  such  a similitude  ! But  in  after 
days  he  shared  those  feelings  with  his  father,  bringing  to  his  re- 
gretful bosom  a soolhing  perception  of  the  likeness. 

Lady  Albina  instantly  complied,  casting  a sweet  glance  at 
Sir  Robert,  who  immediately  led  her  to  the  piano-forte,  followed 
by  the  Scottish  merchant  of  the  Baltic,  whither  the  noble  sym- 
phony of  “ The  Douglas,”  “ hound  and  horn,”  soon  gathered 
the  rest  of  the  company.  The  remainder  of  the  evening  passed 
away  delightfully  in  the  awakened  harmony.  Mrs.  Montresor 
joined  Lady  Albina  in  some  touching  Italian  duets ; Pembroke 
supported  both  ladies  in  a fine  trio  of  Mozart’s  ; Mr.  Hopetown 
requested  another  favorite  son  of  his  country,  “ Auld  Robin 
Gray,”  and  himself  repaid  Lady  Albina’s  kind  assent  by  a mag- 
nificent voluntary  on  his  part,  “ Scots  wha  hae  wi’  Wallace 
bled.”  Mary  accompanied  that  well-known  pibroch  of  “ The 
Bruce  ” with  a true  responsive  echo  from  her  harp  ; but  she 
declined  singing  herself,  and  when  Thaddeus  took  the  relin- 
quished instrument  from  her  hand,  he  pressed  it  with  a silent 
tenderness,  sweeter  to  her  than  could  have  been  the  plaudits  of 
all  the  accomplished  listeners  around.  That  soft  hand  had 
stroked  the  branching  neck  of  his  recovered  Saladin  the  same 
morning,  and  the  happy  master  now  marked  his  feeling  of  the 
gentle  deed. 

In  the  course  of  a few  days,  Pembroke’s  wishes  with  regard 
to  Mr.  Loftus  were  put  into  a train  of  fulfilment.  Dr.  Blackmore 
having  undertaken  to  find  a fitting  tutor  for  the  young  Lord 
Avon,  and  in  the  interim  would  receive  him  into  his  own  classi- 
cal instruction,  whenever  it  should  be  deemed  proper  to  termi- 
nate his  present  holiday  visit  in  Bedfordshire.  But  whilst  Sir 
Robert  had  thus  adjudged  the  guilty,  he  was  careful  not  to  ex- 
pose him  to  fresh  temptations,  nor  to  suffer  his  crimes  to  im- 
plicate the  innocent  in  its  punishment.  Hence,  in  pity  to  age 
and  helplessness,  he  determined  to  settle  two  hundred  pounds 


426 


THADBEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


per  annum  on  the  wretched  man’s  mother  and  sisters,  who  dwelt 
together  in  Wales.  Shortly  after,  in  consequence  of  his  con- 
trite confessions,  “ that  all  Mr.  Somerset’s  allegations  against 
him  were  too  true,”  the  humane  father  and  son  appointed  one 
hundred  pounds  more  to  be  paid  yearly  to  the  culprit  himself, 
so  that  at  least  he  might  not  be  induced  to  lighten  his  honest 
labors  for  a suitable  subsistence  by  renewed  villanies.  With 
reference  to  the  benefice  of  Somerset,  which  had  been  the  ill- 
sought  price  of  this  base  pretender  to  sanctity  and  truth.  Sir 
Robert  decided  on  presenting  it  to  the  exemplary  Dr.  Black- 
more  whenever  it  should  become  vacant. 

Meanwhile,  the  baronet’s  sojourn  in  town  became  indispen- 
sably prolonged,  not  only  by  the  simple  nature  of  the  affairs 
that  brought  him  thither,  but  by  certain  unlooked-for  intricacies 
occurring  in  making  a final  adjustment  of  the  various  settle- 
ments and  consequent  conveyances  to  be  effected  on  account 
of  the  two  felicitous  marriages  in  his  family.  During  these  linger- 
ing proceedings  amongst  the  legal  protectors  of  soil  and  surety,” 
Miss  Beaufort  remained  the  cherished  and  cheering  guest  of  the 
already  espoused  pair,  one  of  whom,  indeed,  still  wore  the  garb 
of  a mourning  bride,”  but  all  within  was  clad  in  the  true  white 
robe  of  nuptial  purity  and  peace.  Sobieski  was  the  now  no  less 
privileged  abiding  inmate  in  the  home  and  heart  of  Sir  Robert 
Somerset.  Increasing  daily  in  favor  with  “ good  aunt  Dorothy,” 
the  presiding  mistress  of  his  father’s  house,  he  soon  became 
nearly  as  precious  in  her  sight  as  had  long  been  the  pleasant 
society  of  her  nephewPembroke.  And  all  this  her  ingenuous  and 
affectionate  nature  avowed  to  Mary,  in  their  frequent  visits  be- 
tween the  two  houses,  with  a sort  of  delighted  wonder  at  her 
heart’s  so  prescient  recognition  of  the  new  nephew  her  sweet 
niece  was  to  bestow  upon  her.  For  it  had  not  yet  been  re- 
vealed to  her  that  Thaddeus  did  stand  in  that  same  tender  re- 
lationship to  her  by  a former  marriage  of  her  beloved  brother 
with  the  lamented  mother  of  the  noble  object  of  her  cherished 
esteem.  And  what  was  the  double  joy  of  the  blessed  moment 
when  that  happy  secret  was  confided  to  her  bosom. 

The  last  busy  month  of  autumn  in  London  had  not  only 
laid  down  its  wearied  head  under  the  dark  canopy  of  a murky 
atmosphere,  lit  with  dimmed  street-lamps  to  its  slumbers,  but 
its  expected  refreshment  in  the  country  did  not  offer  much  more 
agreeable  materials  for  repose  and  vernal  renovation.  There 
were  blustering  winds  strewing  the  recently  green  earth  with 
beds  of  withered  leaves  of  every  foliage,  stripped  and  fallen 
from  the  shivering  woods  above.  And  there  were  drenching 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


427 


rains,  laying  the  lately  pleasant  fields  in  trackless  swamps,  and 
swelling  the  clear  and  gentle  brooks  into  brawling  floods,  rend- 
ing asunder  the  long-remembered  rustic  bridges  which  had 
hitherto  linked  the  villages  together,  in  convenient  passages  for 
wholesome  relaxation  or  useful  toil. 

Such  were  the  newspaper  accounts  from  the  country  during 
the  latter  part  of  November  ; but  there  was  seen  a fairer  pros- 
pect from  the  carriage  windows  of  Sir  Robert  Somerset,  when 
he  and  his  gladdened  party,  one  bright  morning,  on  quitting  the 
splashy  environs  of  Hammersmith  and  Brentford,  entered  the 
broad  expanse  of  Hounslow  Heath,  on  their  way  into  Warwick- 
shire, and  beheld  its  wide  common  covered  with  a fair  carpet 
of  spotless  snow.  Winter  had  then  seriously,  or,  rather,  smil- 
ingly, set  in.  It  was  the  loth  of  December  ; and  the  baronet, 
having  signed  and  sealed  all  things  necessary  to  transfer  with 
perfect  satisfaction  himself  and  family  (as'was  always  his  cus- 
tom at  this  homeward  season),  now  set  forth  to  one  or  other  of 
his  ancient  domains,  to  pass  his  Christmas  in  the  bosom  of  an 
enlarged  and  a grateful  domestic  happiness.  Thus,  year  after 
year,  he  diffused  from  each  of  those  parental  mansions  that 
bounteous  hospitality  to  high  and  low  which  he  considered  to 
be  an  especial  duty  in  an  English  gentleman,  whether  in  the  char- 
acter of  ‘‘  landlord  ” to  noble  guests  and  respected  neighbors,  or 
to  wayfaring  strangers  passing  by  ; or,  while  grac^^usly  mingling 
with  his  widely-established  tenantry,  or  his  equally  regarded 
daily  guests  at  this  “ holy  festival,’’  the  virtuous,  lowly  peasan- 
try, laborers  on  the  land.  Then  smiled  the  cottager,  with 
honest  consciousness  of  yeoman  worth,  when  seated  in  the  great 
hall,  under  the  eye  of  his  munificent  lord,  who  partook  of  the 
general  feast.  Then,  too,  did  he  smile  when,  at  the  head  of  his 
own  little  board,  he  sat  with  his  children  and  humbler  depend- 
ents, all  furnished  with  ample  Christmas  fare  by  the  baronet’s 
still  open  hand. 

When  Thaddeus  shared  these  primeval  scenes  of  old  Eng- 
land by  the  side  of  his -British  parent,  (which  festivities  are  still 
honorably  preserved  by  some  of  its  most  ancient  and  noblest 
families,)  they  brought  back  to  his  heart  those  similar  assem- 
blages at  Villanow  and  in  Cracovia,  where  his  revered  grand- 
father, the  palatine,  had  reigned  prince  and  father  over  every 
happy  breast."^ 

And  happy  were  now  the  recollections  of  all  who  met  at 

* The  writer  remembers  a similar  scene  to  the  above  when  she  had  the  honor  of  dining, 
along  w'ith  her  revered  family,  on  a festival  of  harvest-home  at  Bushy  Palace,  when  its  royal 
owner,  his  late  majesty,  was  Duke  of  Clarence.  Himself  moved  through  his  rustic  guests 
in  the  gracious  manner  described. 


428 


THADDEUS  OF  WAESAW, 


Deerhurst  on  this  their  first  joyful  Christmas  season  ! Week 
after  week  glided  along  in  the  bland  exercise  of  social  duties, 
aided  by  the  more  homefelt  enjoyments  of  sweet  domestic  af- 
fections, which  gave  a living  grace  to  all  that  was  said  or  done, 
and  more  intimately  knit  hearts  together,  never  more  to  be 
divided. 

But  winter’s  howling  blasts  and  sheltering  halls,  ‘‘  where  fire- 
side comforts,  taste,  and  gentle  love,  with  soft  amenities  min- 
gled into  bliss,”  swiftly  and  fairer,  changed  their  pleasant  song, 
proclaiming  in  every  brightening  hue  the  hymn  of  nature — 

“ These,  as  they  change,  Almighty  Father! 

Are  but  the  varied  God  ! The  rolling  year 
Is  full  of  Thee  ! Forth  in  the  pleasing  spring 
Thy  beauty  walks,  thy  tenderness  and  love ; 

and  in  the  first  month  of  that  genial  season,  when  the  young 
grass  covers  the  downy  hills  with  verdure,  and  the  glowing 
branches  of  the  trees  bud  with  an  infant  foliage,  the  sun  smiles  in 
the  heavens,  and  the  pellucid  streams  reflect  his  glorious  rays, 
the  day  was  fixed  by  Sir  Robert  Somerset,  and  approved  by  the 
beloved  objects  of  his  then  peculiar  solicitude,  in  which  his 
paternal  hand  should  plight  theirs  together  before  the  altar  of 
eternal  truth. 

The  solemftity  was  to  be  performed  in  the  village  church, 
which  stood  in  the  park  of  Deerhurst,  and  the  Rev.  Dr.  Black- 
more,  who  cajne  over  from  his  own  private  dwelling  in  Worces- 
tershire, accompanied  by  his  pupil.  Lord  Avon,  was  to  perform 
the  holy  rite.  No  adjunct  of  the  Roman  Catholic  ceremony 
(then  the  national  church  of  Poland)  was  needful  fully  to  legalize 
it.  Thaddeus  from  his  infancy  had  been  reared  in  the  Protes- 
tant faith,  the  faith  of  his  mother,  whose  own  mother  was  a 
daughter  of  the  staunch  Hussite  race  of  the  princely  Zamoiski, 
who  still  professed  that  ancient,  simple  creed  of  their  country. 
It  was  also  the  national  faith  of  him  who  had  given  Therese’s 
son  being ; therefore,  to  the  same  pure  doctrine  of  Christianity 
had  she  dedicated  his  deserted  child ; and  should  they  ever 
meet  again,  she  believed  it  must  be  before  the  throne  of  Divine 
Mercy ; and  there  she  trusted  to  present  their  solitary  offspring 
with  the  sacred  words — ‘‘  Here  I am.  Lord,  and  the  child  thou 
didst  give  me.” 

But  to  return  to  the  marriage-day  itself.  The  hour  having 
arrived  in  which  the  soul-devoted  Mary  Beaufort  was  to  resign 
herself  and  her  earthly  happiness  into  the  power  of  the  only 
man  to  whom,  having  once  beheld  and  known  him,  she  could 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


429 


ever  have  committed  them,  she  pronounced  her  vows  at  the 
sacred  altar  with  unsteadiness  of  tongue  but  with  a fixed  heart. 
And  when,  after  embracing  all  the  fond  kindred  so  long  dear  to 
her,  and  now  to  him,  and  having  received  their  parting  bless- 
ings within  the  walls  of  her  ever-cherished  home, — sweet,  while 
familiar  Deerhurst, — she  was  driven  rapidly  through  its  gates, 
while  a mixed  and  awed  emotion,  agitated  her  breast.  But  im- 
mediately she  felt  the  supporting  arm  of  her  husband  gently 
pressing  her  trembling  form  ; and  so,  with  all  that  husband’s 
tender  sympathy,  the  hours  glided  away  unperceived,  till  the 
august  towers  of  her  own  native  domain  appeared  on  the  even- 
ing horizon,  and  soon  afterwards  she  alighted  at  the  mansion 
itself,  having  passed  along  a central  avenue  of  ancient  oaks 
amid  the  congratulatory  cheers  of  a large  assemblage  of  he^ 
tenantry  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  planted  on  each  side,  to  bid 
a glad  welcome  to  their  ^Miege  lady  and  her  lord.” 

Within  the  great  entrance  of  the  baronial  hall,  which  opened 
to  her  by  the  immediate  raising  of  a massive  brazen  portcullis, 
the  ancient  insignia  of  the  Beaufort  name,  she  received  the  joy- 
ful obeisance  of  the  old  domestics  of  her  honored  parents,  hail- 
ing her,  their  beloved  daughter,  with  a humble  ardor  of  affection 
that  bathed  her  enraptured  face  with  filial  tears.  Thaddeus 
felt  the  scene  in  his  own  recollective  heart. 

Next  morning  Mrs.  Robson  and  the  delighted  Nanny 
(dressed  in  a white  frock  for  the  blissful  occasion),  on  being 
brought  into  the  countess’s  private  saloon,  threw  themselves  at 
the  feet  of  their  benefactors  and  sobbed  forth  their  happiness. 
The  still  more  happy  Sobieski  raised  them  in  his  arms,  and,  em- 
bracing both,  accosted  the  old  lady  as  he  would  have  done  a 
revered  relative,  and  the  affectionate  little  girl  like  an  adopted 
child. 

The  same  day  the  vicar  of  Beaufort,  whose  large  rural  parish 
extended  from  the  Castle  to  several  miles  around,  rode  to  the 
gate,  and  was  announced  by  name  (the  Rev.  Mr.  Tillotson),  to 
pay  his  pastoral  duty  to  his  future  noble  neighbors  and  sacred 
rharge,  the  owners  off  the  land. 

“ His  is  a good  name,”  observed  Mary,  with  a gracious 
smile  ; ‘‘  it  was  borne  by  one  of  the  brightest  luminaries  of  our 
Protestant  church.  Archbishop  Tillotson,  whose  works  you  will 
find  in  the  family  library,  now  your  own.  And  his  descendant, 
the  revered  late  vicar,  christened  me  in  the  dear  old  church  of 
the  adjacent  village,  to  which  we  go  to-morrow,  Sunday.  * Oh, 
how  much  have  I to  bless  Heaven  for  in  that  holy  place  ! ” she 
tenderly  ejaculated.  “You,  kneeling  by  my  side  there — one 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 

faith,  one  heart,  one  death,  one  salvation.  O,  my  husband,  I 
am  blessed  indeed  ! 

My  Mary,  in  earth  and  heaven  ! ” was  his  soul’s  response, 
and  with  the  words  he  pressed  her  fervently-clasped  hands  with 
a hallowed  emotion  to  his  lips. 

In  a few  minutes  after  this  she  led  the  way  to  the  ancient 
library,  tapestried  with  family  portraits,  and  furnished  with 
book-cases  of  every  past  generation.  Thither  the  young  vicar, 
a truly  worthy  successor  to  his  pious  father,  had  been  conduct- 
ed ; and  there,  being  introduced  by  the  countess  (who  had  seen 
him  only  once  before)  to  her  lord,  they  found  him  not  merely  a 
clergyman  to  be  respected,  but  an  accomplished  general  scholar 
and  a polished  man.* 

Thus  was  Thaddeus,  the  long-cherished  orphan  of  a broken 
paternal  vow,  by  a wondrous  providence  established  in  his  new 
British  character — a husband,  and  an  owner  of  large  estates  in 
the  soil.  And  he  soon  became  fully  sensible  to  the  double  com- 
mission devolved  upon  himself.  Whether  as  a son  of  Poland,, 
in  right  of  the  life  he  had  drawn  from  his  mother’s  bosom,  or 
as  one  equally  claimed  by  England,  in  right  of  his  paternal 
parent,  he  was  well  prepared  to  faithfully  fulfil  their  relative 
duties,  with  a zeal  to  each  respondent  to  the  important  privi- 
leges and  blessings  of  so  signal  a lot.  In  two  short  preceding 
years  he  had  indeed  passed  through  a host  of  severe  trials  ; but 
in  all  he  had  been  supported  by  an  Almighty  hand,  and  under 
the  same  gracious  trust  he  now  looked  forward  to  a long  Sab- 
bath of  hallowed  peace,  and  of  grateful  service  to  Him  who 
bestowed  it. 

He  had  met  it  at  Deerhurst,  when  under  his  father’s  roof ; 
he  maintained  it  at  Beaufort,  the  seat  of  his  most  continuous 
residence ; nor  did  he  neglect  its  duties  at  Manor  Court,  Sir 
Robert’s  parental  gift,  and  his  own  near  neighborhood.  And 
when  the  time  came  round  for  the  family  to  revisit  London,  his 
pleasures  there  were  of  a character  to  correspond  with  his  pur- 
suits in  the  country,  the  happiness  of  others  being  the  source 
of  his  own  enjoyments. 

* Over  the  gate-Hke  arch  of  the  library  door  had  been  erected,  by  a recent  order  from  the 
gentlest  hand  now  within  its  walls,  a simple  but  exquisitely-carved  escutcheon,  showing  the 
armorial  bearing  of  the  ancient  and  royal  house  of  Sobieski — a crowned  buckler,  with  the 
family  motto,  “ God  is  the  shield  that  covers  me.’* 


THADDEUS  OP  WARSA  tV, 


CHAPTER  L. 

“We  are  brethren  ! 

After  the  termination  of  the  Count  Sobieski’s  first  Easter 
passed  with  the  beloved  of  his  soul  in  the  home  of  her  ances- 
tors, they  proceeded  together  to  join  Sir  Robert  Somerset,  and 
their  kind  aunt  Miss  Dorothy,  in  Grosvenor  Square,  to  become 
again  his  welcome  guests,  and  always  thereafter  when  in  town, 
while  Heaven  prolonged  their  lives  to  renew  the  cherished  re- 
union at  each  succeeding  season. 

Thus  it  was  that,  immediately  subsequent  to  the  holy  festival, 
the  now  revered  Lord  of  Beaufort  cheerfully  obeyed  his  father’s 
summons  to  London,  where  he  found  Pembroke  and  Lady 
Albina  already  resettled  in  their  former  residence.  Having 
ere  long  met  the  gratulatory  calls  of  his  metropolitan  friends, 
he  daily  beheld  his  lovely  bride — lovely  in  mind  as  in  person 
— becoming  more  and  more  ‘‘  the  worshipped  cynosure  of  neigh- 
boring eyes  ; ” not  only  adorning  the  highest  circles  of  society, 
but  filling  his  home  with  all  the  ineffable  charms  of  a wedded 
life,  inspired  by  the  gentle  graces  of  domestic  tenderness. 

One  balmy  evening  in  May,  when  he  and  his  young  countess 
were  driving  out  alone  together,  which  they  sometimes  did, 
that  she  might  have  the  delight  of  showing  to  him  the  varied 
rural  environs  of  the  great  and  gay  royal  city  of  England,  the 
carriage,  by  her  direction,  took  its  course  towards  Primrose  Hill, 
then  crowned  by  a grove  of  ‘Hair  elm-trees,”  and  clothed  with 
a vesture  of  green  sward,  enamelled  with  wild  flowers.  Thence 
the  light  vehicle  threaded  a maze  of  shady  lanes  and  pleasant 
field-paths,  into  a rustic,  newly-made  road,  leading  a little  to 
the  north  of  Covent  Garden.* 

Mary  proposed  stopping  a few  minutes  in  that  magnificent 
general  garden  of  the  town,  to  purchase  a bouquet  of  early  roses, 
to  present  to  Sir  Robert  on  their  return  from  their  drive. 

When  the  carriage  drew  up  at  the  entrance  of  the  great  par- 
terre, she  stepped  out  to  select  them.  Having  quickly  com- 
bined their  fragrant  beauties,  she  put  the  nosegay  into  the  hand 
of  one  of  the  servants  to  place  on  the  seat.  Being  nigh  the 
church  porch,  she  suddenly  expressed  a wish  to  her  husband, 

♦ All  this  has  since  become  Regent’s  Park  and  its  dependencies,  whether  streets  or 

ninares. 


TffADDEVS  OF  WARSAW. 


43^ 

on  whose  arm  she  leaned,  to  walk  through  the  church-yard,  and 
that  the  carriage  should  meet  them  at  the  opposite  gate. 

Thaddeus,  not  being  aware  that  this  porch  belonged  to  the 
church  where  his  veteran  friend  had  been  buried,  gave  instant 
assent ; and  before  he  had  time  to  make  more  than  a few  re- 
marks on  the  pure  religious  architecture  of  the  building,  which 
he  thought  had  attracted  his  tasteful  bride  to  take  a nearer 
view,  she  had  led  him  unconsciously  to  the  general’s  grave. 
But  it  was  no  longer  the  same  as  when  Sobieski  last  stood  by 
its  side.  A simple  white  marble  tomb  now  occupied  the  place 
of  its  former  long  grass  and  yarrow.  Surprised,  he  bent  for- 
ward, and  read  with  brimming  eyes  the  following  inscrip- 
tion : — 

1795-6. 

Stop,  Traveller  ! Thou  treadest  on  a Hero 
Here  rest  the  mortal  remains 
of 

LIEUTENANT-GENERAL  BUTZOU, 

Late  of  the  Kingdom  of  Poland. 

A faithful  soldier  to  his  Lord  and  to  his  country  ! 

He  sleeps  in  Faith  and  Hope ! 

Thaddeus  for  a moment  felt  as  he  did  when  he  beheld  those 
“ mortal  remains  ” laid  there.  But  his^  own  faith  in  that  hope 
which  consecrated  this  mortality  to  an  immortal  resurrection  had 
then  silently  spread  the  balm  of  its  full  assurance  overall  those 
remembered  pangs  ; and  now,  without  speaking,  he  led  his  also 
pensive  and  tremulous  companion  to  her  carriage,  where  it 
awaited  them,  and  seating  her  within  it,  clasped  her  to  his 
breast.  His  tears,  no  longer  restrained,  poured  those  sweet 
pledges  of  a soul-felt  approbation  into  her  bosom  that  made  it 
even  ache  with  excess  of  happiness.  But  while  the  grateful 
voice  of  her  husband  was  beginning  to  breathe  its  uttered 
thanks,  he  found  the  carriage  stop  again,  in  a street  not  far 
distant  from  the  one  they  had  just  quitted.  It  drew  up  at  the 
door  of  a handsome  house,  of  an  apparently  contemporary 
structure  with  the  church.  It  was  the  rectory  of  St.  Paul’s, 
Covent  Garden  and  at  its  portal  stood  the  reverend  incumbent, 
evidently  awaiting  to  receive  his  guests. 

Thaddeus  perceived  him,  and  also  the  welcome  of  his  posi- 
tion ; so  did  his  gentle  wife,  who  with  a blushing  smile  explained 
all  the  alterations  he  had  observed  on  the  respected  grave, 
avowing  that  they  had  been  done  at  her  devoted  wish,  and  | 


THADVEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


433 


were  effected  by  the  kind  agency  of  that  venerable  man,  the 
rector  of  the  church,  the  Honorable  Bruce  Fitz-James.  She 
then  timidly  added,  (and  how  beautiful  in  that  timidity !)  she 
had  something  more  to  confess  ; she  had  ventured,  after  ob- 
taining permission  of  the  rector  for  the  erection  of  the  monu- 
ment, to  see  it  once  during  its  progress,  and  then  to  promise 
, him  that  on  its  completion  her  honored  husband,  the  Count 
Sobieski,  whose  parental  friend  that  noble  dead  had  been,  would, 
when  she  revealed  her  secret  to  him,  pay  a personal  visit  along 
with  herself  to  her  beneficent  coadjutor,  and  duly  express  their 
united  gratitude.  She  had  scarcely  spoken  her  rapid  informa- 
tion, when  its  courteous  object  descended  the  portal  to  ap- 
proach the  carriage.  His  hat  was  taken  off,  and  the  snow-white 
hair,  blown  suddenly  by  a guest  of  wind  across  his  benign 
brow,  a little  obscured  his  face,  while  he  conducted  the  lady 
from  the  carriage  up  the  steps  of  his  door.  But  Sobieski  found 
no  difficulty  in  recognizing  the  time-blanched  locks,  which  had 
been  wetted  by  the  weeping  heavens  in  that  hour  of  his  lonely 
sorrow,  whilst  committing  to  the  dust  the  remains  of  him  whose 
sacred  memorial  he  had  just  contemplated,  raised  by  a wife's 
dear  hand. 

With  these  recollections  had  arisen  the  image  of  the  pale, 
delicately-formed  boy  who  had  gazed  so  compassionately  into 
his  eyes  while  taking  as  he  thought  his  last  look  at  that  humble 
grave ; and  with  this  bland  recurrence  came  also  the  almost 
closing  words  of  the  solemn  service,  seeming  again  to  proclaim 
to  his  heart,  I heard  a voice  from  heaven,  saying  unto  me. 
Write,  From  henceforth  blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the 
Lord ! " 

With  calmed  feelings  and  perfectly  recovered  self-posses- 
sion, Thaddeus  now  followed  his  beloved  wife  (his  solace  and 
his  joy),  led  by  her  delighted  host,  into  the  bright-panelled 
parlor  of  the  rectory,  where  the  mutual  introduction  instantly 
took  place. 

The  beneficent  old  man,  with  a polished  sincerity,  declared 
his  high  gratification  at  this  visit  from  the  Count  Sobieski, 
brought  to  him  by  the  gracious  lady  who  so  deservedly  shared 
his  illustrious  name.  Thaddeus,  with  his  usual  modest  dignity, 
received  the  implied  compliment,  and  expressed  his  just  sense 
of  the  deep  obligation  conferred  on  him  and  his  countess  by 
the  last  consecrated  rite  to  the  memory  of  his  most  revered 
friend. 

Mary  was  then  seated  on  an  old-fashioned  silk-embroidered 
settee,  opposite  to  the  flower-latticed  bay-window  of  the 

-^8 


434 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


apartment.  The  rector,  with  a courteous  bow,  which  in  his 
youth  would  have  been  called  graceful,  as  if  confident  of  a per- 
mitted privilege,  placed  himself  beside  her,  while  observing  to 
her  lord,  in  reply  to  these  unfeigned  thanks,  that,  “ the  reported 
name  alone  of  the  veteran  patriot  who  lay  there  had  not  ceased 
from  the  day  of  his  interment  to  attract,  shrine-like,  the  pilgrim 
feet  of  many  persons  to  the  spot  who  respected  and  bewailed  the 
fate  of  Poland.’’ 

Sobieski’s  cheek  flushed  and  his  eye  kindled  at  this  tes- 
timony. To  change  a subject  which  he  found  wrought  too 
powerfully  on  the  recently-regained  serenity  of  his  mind,  he. 
affectionately  inquired  for  the  amiable  boy  he  had  seen  take  so 
touching  an  interest  in  the  mournful  errand  to  the  church-yard 
on  that  ever-remembered  day,  and  who,  like  a ministering 
seraph,  had  so  guardingly  watched  the  exposed  head  of  his 
revered  master,  under  the  pitiless  element  then  pouring  down. 

“ He  is  my  nephew,”  returned  the  rector,  in  a tone  of  ten- 
derness : ^‘Lord  Edward  Fitz-James.  He  is  in  delicate  health  ; 
the  youngest  son  of  my  eldest  brother,  the  Marquis  Fitz-James, 
who  married  late  in  life.  Edward  is,  indeed,  what  he  appears, 
a spirit  of  innocent,  happy  love,  or  of  condoling  commiseration, 
wherever  his  gentle  footsteps  move.  And  when  I rejoin  him 
this  autumn,  at  his  father’s  house  in  Scotland,  and  shall  tell  him 
that  the  never-forgotten  chief  mourner  at  that  simple  bier,  with 
whom  his  own  young  tears  fell  in  spontaneous  sympathy,  was 
the  Count  Sobieski — a kinsman  of  his  own,  whose  character 
was  already  known  to  him  in  its  youthful  fame  and  by  its  hon- 
ored name — what  will  be  that  meek  child’s  exulting  ecstasy  ! ” 

A kinsman  of  that  noble  boy  ! ” echoed  Thaddeus,  in  sur- 
prise. ‘‘  How  may  I flatter  myself  it  can  be  so  ? ” 

Mary  simultaneously  uttered  an  amazed  ejaculation  of  pleas- 
ure at  the  idea  of  any  real  relationship  between  that  venerable 
man  and  herself ; and  he,  with  an  answering  look  of  kindred 
respect  on  both  the  astonished  husband  and  his  bride,  replied 
to  the  former  with  the  unstudied  brevity  of  truth. 

A few  sentences  will  explain  it,  for  I consider  it  unneces- 
sary to  remind  my  present  auditors  of  two  great  events  in  their 
respective  countries.  First,  with  regard  to  England  ; the  change 
of  royal  succession  in  the  Stuart  line,  from  the  branch  of  which 
James  the  Second  was  the  head,  to  that  of  Brunswick — a back- 
ward step,  originating  in  Elizabeth  of  Bohemia,  the  daughter  of 
James  the  First,  and  therefore,  the  aunt  of  James  the  Second. 
At  the  height  of  these  eventful  circumstances,  the  offended  sov- 
ereign retired  with  his  exemplary  queen  and  their  infant  son  to 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


435 


the  continent.  There  the  royal  boy  continued  to  be  styled,  by 
his  father’s  adherents,  James  Prince  of  Wales,  but  in  the  gen- 
eral world  was  usually  known  by  the  cognizance  of  the  Cheva- 
lier St.  George. 

‘‘  This  is  the  first  link  in  our  bracelet,  noble  lady ! ” observed 
the  narrator,  with  a smile,  and  then  proceeded.  I now  ad- 
vance to  my  second  part,  the  crisis  of  which  took  place  in  Po- 
land, about  the  same  period.  At  the  death  of  the  great  John 
Sobieski,  King  of  Poland,  the  father  of  his  people,  there  arose 
a deep-rooted  conspiracy  in  certain  neighboring  states,  jealous 
of  his  late  power  and  glorious  name,  determining  to  undermine 
the  accession  of  his  family  to  the  throne  ; and  they  found  an 
apt  soil  to  w^ork  on  in  a corresponding  feeling  ready  to  break 
out  amongst  some  of  the  most  influential  nobles  of  the  realm. 
Foreign  and  domestic  revolutionists  soon  understand  each  other; 
and  the  dynasty  of  Sobieski  being  speedily  overturned  by  the 
double  treason  of  pretended  friends  and  false  allies,  his  three 
princely  sons  withdrew  from  occasioning  the  dire  conflict  of  a 
civil  war,  two  into  distant  lands,  the  other  to  the  ancestral  pat- 
rimony, in  provinces  far  from  the  intrigues  of  ambition  or  the 
temptation  of  its  treacherous  lures. 

“ The  two  elder  brothers,  in  a natural  indignation  against 
the  popular  ingratitude,  took  the  expatriating  destination.  But 
Constantine,  the  youngest  born,  with  the  calm  dignity  of  a son 
without  other  desired  inheritance  than  the  honor  of  such  a 
parent,  retired  to  the  tranquil  seclusion  of  the  castled  domain 
of  Olesko,  the  ancient  fortified  palace  of  his  progenitors,  on  the 
Polish  border  of  Red  Russia ; and  there,  in  philosophic  quiet, 
he  passed  his  blameless  days  with  science  and  the  arts,  and  in 
deeds  of  true  Christian  benevolence — the  purport  of  his  life. 
This  respected  seclusion  was  ultimately  sweetly  cheered  w4ien 
“ woman  smiled  ” upon  it,  in  the  form  of  a fair  daughter  of  a 
neighboring  magnate  in  the  adjacent  province,  whose  noble  re- 
tirement, sharing  the  same  patriotic  principles  with  those  of 
Constantine,'  yielded  to  the  young  philosopher  a lovely  help- 
mate for  him. 

“ Prince  James,  his  eldest  brother,  had  meanwhile  married  a 
sister  of  their  early  associate  in  arms,  the  brave  Charles  of  New- 
burg,  when  under  the  royal  banner  of  Sobieski,  in  the  memora- 
ble field  of  Vienna.  Alexander,  the  second  son,  also  met  with 
a distinguished  bride  in  Germany.  Both  princes  were  accom- 
plished and  handsome  men  ; but  one  of  our  countrymen,  con- 
temporary and  family  physician  to  the  late  king,  familiarly  de- 
scribes them  in  his  curious  reminiscences,  thus  : — ‘ His  majesty 


THADDEUS  OF  WAFSAIV. 


436 

possessed  a fine  figure  ; he  was  tall  and  graceful.  The  noble- 
ness and  elevation  of  his  soul  were  deeply  depicted  in  his  coun- 
tenance and  air.  Prince  James  is  dark-complexioned,  slender 
in  person,  and  more  like  a Spaniard  than  a Pole  ; he  is  very 
social,  courteous  and  liberal.  Alexander  is  of  more  manly  pro- 
portions, and  of  a true  Sarmatian  physiognomy.  But  Constan- 
tine is  an  exact  likeness  of  the  king,  his  father.’  ” ^ 

And  such  was  my  ever-revered  grandsire,  his  only  son  ! ” 
responded  the  heart  of  Thaddeus,  but  he  did  not  utter  the  words. 
Meanwhile,  the  enthusiastic  historiographer  of  a period  he  was 
so  seldom  called  to  touch  on  proceeded  without  a pause. 

‘‘  In  process  of  time,  one  fair  scion  from  this  illustrious  stock 
became  engrafted  on  our  former  royal  stem.  I mean  her  high- 
ness the  Lady  Clementina,  the  daughter  of  Prince  James  of  Po- 
land, who,  after  his  rejection  of  all  foreign  aid  to  re-establish 
him  in  his  father’s  kingdom,  had,  like  the  abdicated  monarch  of 
England,  gone  about  a resigned  pilgrim,  ‘ seeking  a better  coun- 
try,’ till  the  two  families  auspiciously  met,  to  brighten  each 
other’s  remainder  of  earthly  sojourn  at  St.  Germains,  in  France. 
Then  came  the  ‘sweet  bindwith,’  the  royal  maid,  the  Prince 
Sobieski’s  beauteous  daughter,  to  give  her  nuptial  hand  to  the 
only  son  of  the  exiled  king ; and  so,  most  remarkably,  was  united 
the  equally  extraordinary  destinies  of  the  regal  race  of  the  he- 
roic John  Sobieski  with  that  of  our  anointed  warrior,  Robert 
Bruce,  in  the  person  of  his  princely  descendant,  James  Fitz- 
James,  in  diplomatic  parlance  styled  the  Chevalier  de  St. 
George  ; and  from  that  blended  blood,  and  by  family  connec- 
tion, sprung  from  the  same  branching  tree,  I feel  sanguinely 
confident  that  the  claim  I have  set  up  for  myself  and  gentle 
nephew,  whose  kindred  spirit  the  warm  heart  of  the  Count  So- 
bieski has  already  acknowledged,  will  not  be  deemed  an  old 
man’s  dream.” 

A short  silence  ensued. 

Thaddeus  had  been  riveted  with  an  almost  breathless  atten- 
tion to  this  part  of  the  narrative,  some  of  its  public  circum- 
stances having  found  a dim  recollection  in  his  mind  ; but  his  ap-  : 
prehensive  mother  had  always  turned  him  aside  from  any  line  | 
in  his  historical  reading  which  might  particularly  engage  his  ' 
ever-wakeful  interest  to  the  chivalrous  nation  of  his  own  never  , 
avowed  parentage,  and  from  which  a father’s  desertion  had  ex.  I 
patriated  him  even  before  his  birth.  But  now,  how  ample  had 
been  the  atonement,  the  restitution,  to  this  forsaken  son  ? 

* The  writer  of  this  note  has  seen  a magnificent  picture  of  that  glorious  king,  a full  j 
length,  the  stature  of  life.  It  was  nobly  painted  by  an  artist  of  the  period. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 


437 


Not  being  able  to  express  any  of  the  kindled  feelings  this 
narration  had  suggested,  added  to  the  daily  increasing  claims 
the  blessing  of  such  an  atonement  were  hourly  making  on  his 
best  affections,  he  could  only  grasp  the  hand  of  the  venerated 
speaker  with  a fervent  pressure  when  he  ceased.  But  Mary, 
irradiating  smiles,  the  emanating  light  of  her  soul  then  at  her 
Maker’s  feet,  gently  breathed  her  ardent  felicitations  at  what 
she  had  just  heard,  which  had  indeed  established  her  kindred 
with  the  venerated  friend  whose  kindness  had  met  her  so  unre- 
servedly as  a stranger. 

When  the  little  party  so  signally  brought  together,  to  become 
mutually  entwined,  as  if  already  known  to  each  other  for  years 
instead  of  minutes, — when  they  became  composed,  after  the  ex- 
cited emotions  of  the  disclosure  had  subsided,  the  reverend  host, 
now  considering  the  count  and  countess  rather  as  young  cousins 
to  be  honored  than  as  guests  to  be  entertained,  conversed  awhile 
more  particularly  with  regard  to  the  marquis  and  his  famil}^, 
and  finally  accepted,  with  declared  pleasure,  the  earnest  invita- 
tion of  his  gladly  responsive  new  relatives  to  accompany  them 
the  following  day,  when  they  would  call  for  him  in  their  carriage, 
to  dine  with  their  dearest  guardian  and  parental  friend.  Sir 
Robert  Somerset. 

“ He  is  my  Mary’s  maternal  uncle,”  remarked  Thaddeus, 
with  a calm  emphasis,  ‘‘  and  has  been  to  me  as  a father  in  this 
her  adopted  land.  I found  a brother,  also,  in  his  admirable 
son,  Mr.  Somerset,  whom,  with  his  young  bride,  you  will  meet 
to-morrow  at  Sir  Robert’s  family  table.  Hence,  my  revered 
kinsman,  you  see  what  England  still  does  in  her  kind  bosom 
for  a remnant  of  the  race  of  Sobieski.” 

The  appointed  hour  next  day  arrived.  The  count  called  for 
his  friend,  who  was  ready  at  the  door  of  the  rectory  mansion, 
and,  after  much  interesting  conversation  during  the  drive,  con- 
ducted him  into  the  presence  of  the  baronet.  Sir  Robert  greeted 
his  guest  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  filial  eloquence  of  Sobies- 
ki, in  describing  his  adopted  father’s  ever-gracious  heart,  and 
consequent  benignant  manners.  Thaddeus  had  repeated  to 
Sir  Robert  the  revealments  of  yesterday’s  visit  to  the  honorable 
and  reverend  rector  of  St.  Paul’s,  which  had  so  stirringly  min- 
gled with  his  own  most  cherished  memories. 

The  cordial  reception  thus  given  to  the  revered  narrator 
gratified  him,  as  a full  repayment  for  his  imparted  confidence 
of  the  day  before,  though  he  could  not  be  aware  of  the  real 
paternal  fountain  from  which  these  warm  welcomes  flowed. 
But  Thaddeus  recognized  it  in  every  word,  look,  and  act  of  his 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


43S 

beloved  father,  and  with  his  mother  in  his  heart,  he  appreci- 
ated all. 

Dr.  Cavendish  and  Dr.  Blackmore  had  been  added  to  the 
party.  Sincere  esteem,  with  an  ever-grateful  recollection  of  the 
past,  always  spread  the  board  of  Sobieski  for  the  former,  when- 
ever he  might  have  leisure  to  enrich  it  with  his  highly  intellect- 
ual store.  Dr.  Blackmore  had  arrived  the  preceding  evening 
with  Lord  Avon,  grown  a fine  youth,  to  pass  a few  days  with 
his  patron  and  friend.  Sir  Robert  Somerset,  on  his  way  to 
transfer  his  noble  charge  to  the  tutorage  of  the  fully  competent, 
though  young,  vicar  of  Beaufort,  Mr.  Tillotson.  Lord  Avon 
was  to  reside  in  the  vicarage,  but  would  also  possess  the  con- 
stant personal  care  of  his  friends  at  the  Castle,  and  a home 
invitation  to  visit  there,  with  his  accomplished  tutor,  whenever 
it  should  be  agreeable  to  Mr.  Tillotson  to  bring  him. 

The  rector  of  St.  Paul’s  and  the  recently  inducted  rector  of 
Somerset  (whither  he  was  proceeding  after  he  should  have  de- 
posited his  young  lordship  at  Beaufort)  were  respectively  intro- 
duced to  each  other — worthy  brethren  in  the  pure  church  they 
were  equally  qualified  to  support  and  to  adorn. 

When  dinner  was  announced,  the  Rev.  Bruce  Fitz-James 
received  the  hand  of  the  cheerful  Miss  Dorothy  to  lead  her 
down.  She  had  given  him  a frank  greeting  of  relationship  on 
his  being  presented  to  her,  as  mistress  of  her  brother’s  house, 
on  his  first  entrance  into  the  drawing-room.  During  the  social 
repast,  much  elegant  and  intellectual  conversation  took  place, 
and  promises  were  solicited,  both  then  and  after  the  banquet, 
by  the  members  of  the  family  group  from  their  several  guests 
for  visits  at  the  seasons  most  pleasant  to  themselves,  to  Deer- 
hurst,  to  Somerset,  and  to  Beaufort.  The  venerable  Fitz-James 
and  his  young  nephew  were  particularly  besought  by  Thaddeus 
and  his  Mary,  who  anticipated  a peculiar  delight  in  becoming 
intimately  acquainted  with  that  interesting  boy.  Lord  Avon 
they  hoped  might  prove  a companionable  attraction  to  the 
latter. 

The  invitations  were  cordially  accepted,  the  paternal  uncle 
of  the  young  Lord  Edward  not  doubting  the  ready  approbation 
of  his  brother,  the  marquis.  And  it  was  arranged  that  both  at 
Beaufort  and  at  Deerhurst  the  whole  of  the  baronet’s  family 
group  should  be  assembled,  including  Mr.  Somerset  and  his 
gentle  lady,  whose  placid  graces  moved  round  his  ever  spark- 
ling vivacity  with  a softly-tempering  shade. 

Thus,  day  after  day,  week  after  week,  while  continuing  in 
town,  time  passed  on  in  the  alternate  interchanges  of  domestic 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


439 


tranquillity  and  the  active  exercises  of  those  duties  to  society  in 
general,  and  to  the  important  demands  of  public  claims  on  the 
present  stations  of  the  several  individuals  on  whom  such  calls 
were  made. 

Nor  in  the  country,  when  returned  to  their  separate  dwell- 
ing-places, did  the  same  happy  and  honorable  routine  cease  its 
genial  round.  Pembroke’s  most  stationary  residence  was 
Somerset  Castle,  his  father’s  beneficent  representative,  whose 
favorite  home  was  Deerhurst.  And  thus  mutually  endeared, 
and  worthy  of  their  Heaven-bestowed  stewardship,  we  leave  the 
family  of  Sir  Robert  Somerset. 

We  leave  Thaddeus  Sobieski,  now  one  of  its  most  beloved 
members,  blessed  in  the  fruition  of  every  earthly  good.  The 
virtues,  the  muses,  and  the  charities  were  the  chosen  guests  at 
his  abundant  table.  Poverty  could  not  veil  genius  from  his 
penetration,  nor  misfortune  obscure  the  inborn  light  of  its  integ- 
rity. Though  exiled  from  his  native  land,  where  his  birth  gave 
him  dominion  over  rich  territories,  now  in  the  hands  of  stran- 
gers, and  a numerous  happy  people,  now  no  more,  he  had  not 
yet  relinquished  the  love  of  empire.  But  it  was  not  over 
principalities  and  embattled  hosts  that  he  desired  to  prolong 
the  sceptre  of  command.  He  wished  to  reign  in  the  soul. 
His  throne  was  sought  in  the  hearts  of  the  good,  the  kind,  the 
men  of  honest  industry,  and  the  unfortupate,  on  whom  prosper- 
ity had  frowned.  In  fact,  the  unhappy  of  every  degree  and 
nation  found  consolation,  refuge,  and  repose  within  the  shelter- 
ing domains  of  Beaufort.  No  eye  looked  wistfully  on  him  to 
turn  away  disappointed ; his  smiles  cheered  the  disconsolate, 
and  his  protecting  arms  warded  off,  when  possible,  the  approach 
of  new  sorrows.  Peace  was  within  his  walls,  and  plenteoiis- 
ness  within  his  palaces.” 

And  when  a few  eventful  months  of  the  succeeding  year  had 
distinguished  its  course  with  the  death  of  the  imperious  destroyer 
of  Poland,  and  General  Kosciusko  (having  been  set  at  liberty 
by  her  generous  successor,  and  honorably  empowered  to  go 
whither  he  willed)  had  arrived  in  England  on  his  way  to  the 
United  States,  he  sought  and  found  Thaddeus,  his  young  com- 
rade in  the  fields  of  Poland,  and  was  hailed  with  the  warmest 
welcome  by  that  now  indeed  truly  “ comforted  ” brave  and  last 
representative  of  the  noble  race  and  name  of  the  glory  of  his 
country,  the  more  than  once  Gideon-shield  of  Christendom — 
John  Sobieski. 

‘‘  Ah,  my  chief ! ” cried  he,  while  he  clasped  the  veteran  to 
his  breast,  I am  indeed  favored  above  mortals.  I see  thee 


440 


THADBEUS  OF  IVARSAW, 


again,  on  whom  I believed  the  gates  of  a ruthless  prison  had 
closed  forever ! I have  all  that  remains  of  my  country  now 
within  my  arms.  Kosciusko,  my  friend,  my  father,  bless  your 
son  ! 

Kosciusko  did  bless  him,  and  embalmed  the  benediction 
with  a shower  of  tears  more  precious  than  the  richest  unction 
that  ever  flowed  on  a royal  head.  They  were  drawn  from  a 
Christian  soldier’s  heart — a true  patriot  and  a hero. 

Sobieski  presented  his  lovely  wife  to  this  illustrious  friend, 
and  while  he  gratefully  acknowledged  the  rare  felicity  of  his 
ultimate  fate,  he  owned  that  the  retrospection  of  the  past 
calamity,  like  a shade  in  a picture,  gives  to  our  present  bliss 
greater  force  and  brightness.  But  that  such  felicity  was  his, 
he  could  only  ascribe  to  the  gracious  providence  of  God,  who 
‘^trieth  the  spirit  of  man,”  and  can  bring  him  to  a joy  on  earth 
even  like  unto  a resurrection  from  the  dead.  And  the  con- 
clusion is  not  even  then ; there  remaineth  yet  a better  life, 
and  a better  country  for  those  who  trust  in  the  Lord  of  earth 
and  heaven ! ” 


APPENDIX. 


NOTES 

CHIEFLY  RELATING  TO 

GENERAL  KOSCIUSKO. 


(4411 


..  ..'V  : 


NOTES 


The  writer  prefaces  these  notes  with  the  following  dedica- 
tory tribute  she  inscribed  to  the  memory  of  this  illustrious  chief 
in  a former  but  subsequent  edition,  some  years  after  the  first 
publication  of  the  work.  It  runs,  thus  : — 

THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

THIS  TENTH  EDITION  IS  HUMBLY  AND  AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED  TO 
THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  LATE  JUSTLY  REVERED  AND  RENOWNED 

(general  Kosciusko. 


**  The  spirit  of  war  between  nation  and  nation,  and  between  man  and  nian 
in  those  nations,  for  public  supremacy  on  the  one  side  and  private  aggran- 
dizement on  the  other,  being  still  as  much  the  character  of  the  times  as  in 
the  days  when  the  preceding  biographical  tale  of  Poland  was  written,  the 
author  continues  to  feel  the  probable  consequences  of  such  a crisis  in  form- 
ing the  future  principles  of  manly  British  youth — a feeling  which  was  the 
origin  of  the  work  itself. 

Its  direct  aim  being  to  draw  a distinguisning  line  between  the  spirit  of 
true  patriotism  and  that  of  ambitious  public  discontent, — between  real  glory, 
which  arises  from  benefits  bestowed,  and  the  false  fame  of  acquired  con- 
quests, which  a leader  of  banditti  has  as  much  right  to  arrogate  as  would  the 
successful  invader  of  kingdoms, — the  character  of  General  Kosciusko,  under 
these  views,  presented  itself  to  the  writer  as  the  completest  exemplar  for 
such  a picture. 

Enthusiasm  attempted  to  supply  the  pencil  of  genius,  and  though  the 
portraiture  be  imperfectly  sketched,  yet  its  author  has  been  gratified  by  the 
sympathy  of  readers,  not  only  of  her  own  people,  but  of  those  of  distant  na- 
tions ; and  that  the  principles  of  heroic  virtue  which  she  sought  to  inculcate 
in  her  narrative  were  pronounced  by  its  great  patriot  subject,  in  a letter  he 
addressed  to  herself,  * as  worthy  of  his  approbation  and  esteem,^  seems,  now 
that  he  is  removed  from  all  earthly  influence,  to  sanction  her  ^ying  that 
honest  homage  to  his  memory  which  delicacy  forbade  her  doing  while  he 
lived. 

“ The  first  publication  of  this  work  was  inscribed  to  a British  hero,  ‘ a land 
commander  and  a tar,’  whose  noble  nature  well  deserved  the  title  bestowed 
upon  it  by  his  venerable  sovereign,  George  III.,  (‘ Cceur-de-Lion.’)  He,  a 
brother  in  spirit,  fully  appreciated  the  character  of  Thaddeus  Kosciusko, 

(443) 


444 


NOTES. 


and  the  writer  of  this  devoted  tribute  feels  that  she  deepens  the  tints  of 
honor  on  each  name  by  thus  associating  them  together.  But  may  the  tomb 
of  the  British  hero  be  long  in  finding  its  place  ! That  of  the  Bolish  patriot 
has  already  received  its  sacred  deposit,  and  with  the  sincere  oblation  of  a 
not  quite  stranger’s  heart,  this  poor  offering  is  laid  on  the  grave  of  him  who 
fought  for  ‘ his  country’s  freedom,  laws,  and  native  king  ; ’ who,  when  riches 
and  a crown  were  proffered  to  himself  by  the  then  dictator  of  almost  all  Eu- 
rope, declined  both,  because  no  price  could  buy  the  independence  of  an 
honest  man. 

Such  was  General  Kosciusko;  such  was  the  model  of  disinterestedness, 
of  tempered  valor,  and  of  public  virtue  which  his  annalist  sought  to  set 
forth  in  the  foregoing  pages ; such  was  the  man  who  honored  their  narrator 
with  his  approval  and  esteem  ! and  in  that  last  word  she  feels  a privilege, 
but  with  due  humility,  to  thus  link  some  little  memorial  of  herself  to  after 
times,  by  so  uniting  to  the  name  of  Thaddeus  Kosciusko  that  of  his  humble 
but  sincere  aspirer  to  such  themes, 

JANE  PORTER. 

‘‘  Long-Ditton  on-Thames,  September,  1819.” 

Since  the  above  inscription  was  first  written  and  inscribed 
in  the  former  edition,  the  brave  and  benign  ‘‘Christian  knight,’^ 
the  Coeur-de-Lion  of  our  own  times,  has  also  been  gathered 
to  the  tears  of  his  country,  and  his  monumental  statue,  as  if 
standing  on  the  victorious  mount  of  St.  Jean  d’Acre,  is  now 
preparing  to  be  set  up,  with  its  appropriate  sacred  trophies,  in 
the  great  Naval  Hall  at  Greenwich.  It  is  understood  that  his 
mortal  remains  will  be  removed  from  the  Pere  la  Chaise  in 
Paris,  where  they  now  lie,  to  finally  rest  in  St.  Paul’s  Cathedral, 
where  Nelson  sleeps.  Kosciusko’s  tomb  is  at  Cracow,  the  an- 
cient capital  of  Poland ; and  in  the  manner  of  its  most  ancient 
style  of  sepulchre,  it  appears  an  immense  earthen  tumulus,  ^ 

piled  over  the  simple-mounded  grave,  which  accumulating  por-  i 

tions  were  severally  borne  to  their  hallowed  place  in  the  arms 
alone  of  each  silent  mourner,  in  a certain  number  of  successive 
days,  till  the  whole  was  raised  into  a grand  pyramidal  mass. 

In  looking  back  through  the  avenue  of  life  to  those  periods 
the  tale  tells  of,  what  events  have  occurred,  public  and  pri- 
vate, to  the  countries  and  the  individuals  referred  to  in  these 
memoranda  ! to  persons  of  lofty  names  and  excellence,  both  ; 
in  our  own  and  in  other  lands,  mutually  affected  with  admira- 
tion and  regret  for  the  virtues  and  the  calamities  described.  It 
is  an  awful  contemplation,  and  in  sitting  down  in  my  now  soli- 
tary chamber  to  its  retrospection,  I find  that  nearly  half  a cen- 
tury has  passed  since  its  transactions  swept  over  Europe  like  a 
desolating  blast.  Then  I wrote  my  little  chronicle  when  the 
birthright  independence  of  Poland  was  no  more ; when  she  lay 
in  her  ashes,  and  her  mighty  men  were  trodden  into  the  dust  : 
when  tne  pali  of  death  overspread  the  country,  and  her  widows  j 


NOTES. 


44S 

and  her  orphans  wandered  afar  into  the  trackless  wilderness  of 
a barren  world. 

During  this  wide  expatriation,  some  distinguished  captives, 
who  had  fallen  in  the  field,  and  were  counted  among  the  slain, 
having  been  found  by  the  victors  alive  in  their  stiffened  blood, 
were  conveyed  to  various  prisons  ; and  along  with  these  was 
discovered  the  justly  feared,  and  not  less  justly  deplored.  Gen- 
eral Kosciusko,  who,  though  long  unheard  of  by  the  lone  wan- 
derers of  his  scattered  host,  had  been  thus  preserved  by  the  su- 
preme Lord  of  all,  to  behold  again  a remnant  of  his  own  bright- 
ened in  hope,  and  comforted  by  the  honoring  sympathy  of  the 
good  and  brave  in  many  nations. 

Kosciusko  was  of  noble  birth,  and  early  distinguished  him- 
self by  his  spirit  and  talents  for  the  martial  field.  Indeed, 
owing  to  the  belligeren'  position  of  Poland,  situated  in  the. 
midst  of  jealous  and  encroaching  nations,  arms  was  the  natural 
profession  of  every  gentleman  in  the  kingdom,  commerce  and 
agriculture  being  the  usual  pursuits  of  the  middle  classes.  But 
it  happened,  in  the  early  manhood  of  Thaddeus  Kosciusko,  that 
the  dangerous  political  Stromboli  which  surrounded  his  country, 
and  often  aroused  an  answering  blaze  in  that  since  devoted 
land,  slept  in  their  fires  ; and  Poland  being  at  peace,  her  young 
military  students,  becoming  desirous  of  practising  their  science- 
in  some  actual  campaign,  resolved  to  try  their  strength 
across  the  Atlantic.  Hearing  of  the  war  then  just  commenced 
between  the  British  Colonies  in  America  and  the  mother  coun- 
try, Kosciusko,  as  a deciding  spirit  amongst  his  ardent  associ- 
ates, brought  them  to  this  resolution.  Losing  no  time,  they 
embarked,  passed  over  the  wide  ocean  of  the  Western  world, 
and  landing  safe  and  full  of  their  object,  offered  their  services 
to  the  army  of  independence.  Having  been  readily  accepted, 
and  immediately  applied  to  use,  the  extraordinary  warrior  tal- 
ents of  Kosciusko  soon  shone  conspicuous,  and  were  speedily 
honored  by  his  being  appointed  special  aide-de-camp  to  Gen- 
eral Washington.  His  subsequent  conduct  in  the  camp  and 
field  was  consonant  to  its  beginning,  and  he  became  a distin- 
guished general  in  rank  and  command  long  before  his  volun- 
teered military  services  had  terminated.  When  the  war  ended, 
in  the  peace  of  mutual  concessions  between  the  national  parent 
and  its  children  on  a distant  land,  (a  point  that  is  the  duty  ot 
all  Christian  states  to  consider,  and  to  measure  their  ultimate 
conduct  by,)  the  Poles  returned  to  their  own  country,  where 
they  soon  met  circumstances  which  caused  them  to  call  forth 
their  recently  passed  experience  for  her.  But  they  had  not 


NOTES. 


446 

departed  from  the  newly-established  American  State  without 
demonstrations  of  its  warm  gratitude  ; and  Koscuisko,  in  par- 
ticular, with  his  not  less  popular  compatriot  and  friend,  Niem- 
civitz,  the  soldier  and  the  poet,  bore  away  with  them  the  pure 
esteem  of  the  brave  population,  the  sighs  of  private  friendship, 
and  the  tears  of  an  abiding  regret  from  many  fair  eyes. 

To  recapitulate  the  memorable  events  of  the  threatened 
royal  freedom  of  Poland,  by  the  three  formidable  foreign  powers 
confederated  for  its  annihilation,  and  in  repelling  which  Genera] 
Kosciusko  took  so  gallant  a lead,  is  not  here  necessary  to  con- 
nect our  memoranda  concerning  his  unreceding  struggles  to 
maintain  her  political  existence.  They  have  already  been 
sketched  in  the  preceding  little  record  of  the  actual  scenes  in 
which  he  and  his  equally  devoted  compeers  held  their  indomit- 
able resistance  till  the  fatal  issue.  “ Sarmatia  lay  in  blood  ! ’’ 
and  the  portion  of  that  once  great  bulwark  of  civilized  Europe 
was  adjudged  by  the  paricidal  victors  to  themselves:  a sen- 
tence like  unto  that  passed  on  the  worst  of  criminals  was  thus 
denounced  against  Christendom’s  often  best  benefactor,  while 
the  rest  of  Europe  stood  silently  by,  paralyzed  or  appalled, 
during  the  immediate  execution  of  the  noble  victim. 

But  though  dismembered  and  thrown  out  from  the  “ map 
of  nations  ” by  the  combination  of  usurping  ambition  and 
broken  faith,  and  no  longer  to  be  regarded  as  one  in  its 
‘‘  proud  cordon,”  Poland  retained  within  herself  ( as  has  been 
well  observed  by  a contemporary  writer)  a mode  of  existence 
unknown  till  then  in  the  history  of  the  world — a domestic 
national  vitality.”  Unknown,  we  may  venture  to  say,  except 
in  one  extraordinary  yet  easily  and  reverentially  understood 
instance.  We  mean  the  sense  of  an  integral  national  being, 
ever-living  in  the  bosoms  of  the  people  of  Israel,  throughout 
all  their  different  dispersions  and  captivities.  And,  perhaps, 
with  respect  to  this  principle  of  a moral,  political,  and  fili*al  life, 
still  drawing  its  aliment  from  the  inhumed  heart  of  their 
mother-country,  who,  to  them,  “ is  not  dead  but  sleepeth ! ” 
may  be  explained,  in  some  degree,  in  reference  to  the  above 
remark  on  the  existing  and  individual  feeling  amongst  the 
wanderers  of  Poland,  by  considering  some  of  the  best  effects, 
latent  in  their  “working  together  for  good,”  in  the  deep 
experience  of  her  ancient  variously-constituted  modes  of  civil 
government. 

Under  that  of  her  early  monarchs,  the  Piasts  and  their 
senate,  she  sat  beneath  an  almost  patriarchal  sceptre,  they 
being  native  and  truly  parental  princes.  John  Sobieski  was 


NOTES. 


447 


one  of  this  description,  by  descent  and  just  rule.  Under  the 
Jagellon  dynasty,  also  sprung  from  the  soil,  she  held  a yet  more 
generalizing  constitutional  code,  after  which  she  gradually 
adopted  certain  republican  forms,  with  an  elective  king — a 
strange  contradiction  in  the  asserted  object,  a sound  system 
for  political  freedom,  but  which,  in  fact,  contained  the  whole 
alchemy  of  a nation^s  anarchical  life,^’  and  ultimately  produced 
the  entire  destruction  of  the  state.  From  the  established  date 
of  the  elective  monarchy,  the  kingdom  became  an  arena  for 
every  species  of  ambitious  rivalry,  and  its  sure  consequences, 
the  interference  of  foreign  influences ; and  hence  rapidly 
advanced  the  decline  of  the  true  independent  spirit  of  the 
land,  to  stand  in  her  laws,  and  in  her  own  political  strength  ; 
her  own  impartial  laws,  the  palladium  of  the  people  and  a 
native  king  the  parental  guardian  of  their  just  administration. 
But,  in  sad  process  of  time,  “ strangers  of  Rome,  of  Gaul,  and 
of  other  nations,’’  in  whose  veins  not  a drop  of  Sclavonian 
blood  flowed,  found  means  to  successively  seat  themselves  on 
the  throne  of  the  Blasts,  the  Jagellons,  and  the  Sobieskis,  of 
ancient  Sarmatia  ; and  the  revered  fabric  fell,  as  by  an  earth- 
quake, to  be  registered  no  more  amongst  the  kingdoms  of 
the  world. 


The  Early  Education  of  Kosciusko  and  his  Compatriots, 

WITH  ITS  SUBSEQUENT  EFFECTS  ON  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF 

THEIR  Lives. 

Though  their  country  appeared  thus  lost  to  them,  they  felt 
its  kingdom  still  in  their  minds — in  the  bosom  of  memory,  in 
the  consciousness  of  an  ancestry  of  bravery  and  of  virtue  ; and 
though  the  soil  had  passed  away  from  the  feet  of  those  whose 
ancestors  of  “ sword  or  share  ” had  trod  it  as  sons  and  owners, 
and  it  now  holds  no  place  for  them  but  their  fathers’  graves, 
yet  the  root  is  deep  in  such  planting,  and  the  tree,  though  in- 
visible to  the  world,  is  seen  and  nourished  in  the  depths  of 
their  hearts  by  the  dews  of  heaven. 

The  pages  of  universal  history,  sacred  and  profane,  ancient 
and  • modern,  when  opened  with  the  conviction  that  He  who 
made  the  world  governs  it  also,  will  best  explain  the  why  of 
these  changes  in  the  destiny  of  nations  ; and  within  half  of 


44^ 


NOTES, 


the  latter  part  of  the  last  century,  and  the  nearly  half  of  the 
present,  awful  have  been  the  pages  to  be  read.  Hence  we 
may  understand  the  vital  influence  of  the  objects  of  education 
with  regard  to  the  principles  inculcated,  whether  with  relation 
to  individual  interest  or  to  the  generalized  consideration  of 
a people  as  a commonwealth  or  a kingdom.  A kingdom  and 
a commonwealth  may  be  considered  the  same  thing,  wl:en  the 
power  of  both  people  and  king  are  limited  by  just  laws, 
established  by  the  long  exercised  wisdom  of  the  nation,  holding 
the  whole  powers  of  the  state  in  equilibrium  , and  in  this  sense, 
meaning  “ a royal  commonwealth,’’  comprising,  as  in  England, 
“kings,  lords,  and  commons,”  it  is  generally  believed  is  intend- 
ed to  be  understood  the  term,  “ The  republic  of  Poland,  with 
its  king.” 

The  Polish  nation,  however,  under  all  their  dominions  of 
government,  usually  partook  something  of  the  policies  and 
manners  of  the  then  existing  times.  Yet  they  were  always  dis- 
tinguished by  a particular  chivalry  of  character,  a brave  freedom 
from  all  foreign  and  domestic  vassalage,  and  a generous  dis- 
position to  respect  and  to  assist  the  neighboring  nations  to 
maintain  the  same  independence  they  themselves  enjoyed. 
Though  actual  schools,  or  colleges,  or  written  lore,  might  not 
originally  have  had  much  to  do  with  it,  the  continued  practice 
of  old,  well-formed  customs  held  them  in  “ the  ways  their 
fathers  walked  in,”  and  they  found  them  those  of  “ pleasantness  ” 
and  true  honor.  But  the  time  came  when  literary  dictation 
was  to  take  the  place  of  oral  tradition,  and  of  habitual  imitative 
reverence  of  the  past.  Schools  and  colleges  were  instituted, 
teaching  for  doctrines  the  prevailing  sentiments  of  the  endowers, 
or  of  the  instructors  employed.  During  the  reigns  of  the  later 
sovereigns  of  the  Jagellon  dynasty,  Sigismund  I.  and  II.,  and 
that  of  their  predecessor,  John  Sobieski,  the  principles  of  these 
seminaries  might  be  considered  sound.  But  soon  after  the 
death  of  the  last-named  monarch,  when  the  latent  mischief 
contained  in  the  Utopian  idea  of  the  perfection  of  an  always 
elective  monarchy  began  to  shake  the  stability  of  even  the 
monarchy  itself,  certain  of  the  public  teachers  evinced  cor- 
respondent signs  of  this  destructive  species  of  freemasonry ; 
and  about  the  same  period  the  Voltaire  venom  of  infidelity 
against  all  the  laws  of  God  and  man  being  poured  throughout 
the  whole  civilized  world,  the  general  effect  had  so  banefully 
reached  the  seats  of  national  instruction  in  Poland,  that  several 
of  the  most  venerated  personages,  whose  names  have  already 
been  commemorated  in  the  preceding  biographical  story,  con- 


NOTES 


449 


gregated  together  to  stem,  by  a counteracting  current,  the 
torrent  where  they  saw  it  likely  to  overflow ; to  sap  up  its 
introduced  sources,  by  obtaining  the  abolition  of  some  of  the 
most  subtle  and  dangerous  of  the  scholastic  institutions,  and 
the  establishment  of  others  in  their  room,  on  the  sound 
foundation  of  moral  and  religious  polity  between  men  and 
nations. 

The  sole  remaining  princely  descendants  of  the  three  just 
referred  to,  true  patriot-monarchs,  were  the  earliest  awakened  to 
resist  the  spirit  of  evil  spreading  amongst  all  classes  in  the 
nation.  The  Czartoryski  and  the  Zamoyski  race,  both  of  the 
Jagellon  line,  and  near  kinsmen  to  the  then  newly  raised 
monarch  to  the  Polish  throne,  Stanislaus  Poniatowski,  appeared 
like  twin  stars  over  the  darkened  field,  and  the  whole  aspect 
of  the  country  seemed  speedily  changed..  A contemporary 
writer  bears  record  that  ‘‘  one  hundred  and  twenty-seven  pro- 
vincial colleges  were  founded,  perfected,  and  supported  by  "hem 
and  their  patriotic  colleagues;  while  the  University  of  "Viln^ 
was  judiciously  and  munificently  organized  by  its  prince  palatine 
^dam  Czartoryski  himself,  and  a statute  drawn  up  which 
declared  it  “ an  open  high-school  from  the  supreme  board  of 
public  education  for  all  the  Polish  provinces.”  Herein  was 
every  science  exalting  to  the  faculties  of  man,  and  conducive 
to  his  sacred  aspirations,  seriously  and  diligently  inculcated  ; 
and  every  principle  of  morality  and  religion,  purifying  to  his 
mixed  nature,  and  therefore  calculated  to  establish  him  in  the 
answering  conduct,  truth,  justice,  and  loyal  obedience  to  the 
hereditary  revered  laws  of  the  nation,  equally  instilled,  qualify- 
ing him  to  uphold  them,  and  to  defend  their  freedom  from  ail 
offensive  operations  at  home  or  abroad,  intended  to  subvert 
the  purity  of  their  code  or  the  integrity  of  their  administration. 
Such  was  the  import  of  the  implied  vow  on  entering  the 
university. 

Amongst  the  gallant  youths  brought  up  in  such  a school  of 
public  virtue  was  Thaddeus  Kosciusko  and  the  young  Timotheus 
Niefncivitz,  his  friend  from  youth  to  age.  Kosciusko,  as  has 
already  been  said,  was  of  noble  parentage  ; and  to  be  the  son 
' of  a Polish  nobleman  was  to  be  born  a soldier,  and  its  prac- 
tical education,  with  sabre  and  lance,  his  daily  pastime.  But 
military  studies  were  included  in  these  various  colleges,  and 
the  friends  soon  became  as  mutually  expert  in  arms  as  they 
ever  after  continued  severally  distinguished  in  the  fields  of 
their  country  with  sword  or  lyre.  Besides,  neither  of  the  young 
! cavaliers  passed  quite  away  from  their  abna  matet'  without 


1^0  TES, 


4S^ 

having  each  received  the  completing  accolade  of  ^Hr'ae  knight- 
hood ’’  by  the  stroke  of  “ fealty  to  honor  ! ’’  from  the  1 inaugurating 
sunbeam  of  some  lovely  woman’s  eye.  Such  befell  the  youthfu' 
Kosciusko,  one  bright  evening,  in  a large  and  splendid  circle 
of  ‘‘  the  beautiful  and  brave  ” at  Vilna  ; and  it  never  lessened 
its  full  rays  in  his  chivalric  heart,  from  that  hour  devoted  to 
the  angel-like  unknown  who  had  shed  them  on  him,  and  who 
had  seemed  to  doubly  consecrate  the  ardors  of  his  soul  to  his 
country — her  country — the  country  of  all  he  loved  and  honored 
upon  earth. 

How  he  wrought  out  this  silent  vow  is  a story  of  deep  in- 
terest— equally  faithful  to  his  patriotic  loyalty  and  to  his  ever- 
cherished  love  ; and  in  some  subsequent  reminiscences  of  the 
hero,  should  the  writer  live  to  touch  a Tolish  theme  again,  they 
may  be  related  with  additional  honor  to  his  memory. 

Brief  was  the  time  after  the  preceding  sealing  scene  of  the 
young  Kosciusko  for  his  military  vocation  took  place,  before 
himself  and  his  friend  Niemcivitz — who  had  also  received  his 
‘‘  anointing  spell,”  which  he  gayly  declared  came  by  more 
bright  eyes  than  he  would  dare  whisper  to  their  possessors — 
made  a joint  arrangement  to  quit  the  study  of  arms,  though 
thus  cheered  on  by  the  Muses  and  the  Graces,  and  at  once 
enter  the  exercise  in  some  actual  field  of  rugged  war.  The 
newly-opened  dispute  between  Great  Britain  and  her  colonies 
in  North  America  seemed  calculated  for  their  honorable  prac- 
tice. Consulting  some  of  their  most  respected  friends,  they 
speedily  found  means  to  cross  the  seas,  and  shared  the  firsi 
great  campaign  under  Washington.  The  issue  of  that  cam- 
paign, and  those  which  followed  it,  need  not  be  repeated  here  : 
suffice  it  to  say,  the  hard-fought  contest  ended  in  a treaty  ol 
peace  between  the  parent  country  and  its  contumacious  off 
spring,  in  the  year  1783,  with  England’s  acknowledgment  of 
their  independence,  under  the  name  of  the  United  States  of 
America. 

The  two  gallant  Poles  returned  to  Europe,  and  onward  to 
their  own  country,  by  a route  tracked  by  former  brave  deeds  ; 
through  France,  Germany,  and  other  lands,  marked  by  the 
Gustavuses,  the  Montecuculi,  the  Turennes,  the  Corfdes,  the 
Marlboroughs,  the  Eugenes,  champions  alike  of  national  peace 
and  national  glory  on  those  widely-extended  plains  and  bul- 
warked frontiers,  till  the  belligerent  clouds  of  a still  more 
threatening  hostility  than  any  of  those  repelled  invasions  were 
seen  hovering  luridly  over  their  own  beloved  country.  Warned 
thus,  during  their  pleasant  travel,  of  the  coming  events  whose 


NOTES, 


45^ 

shadows  seemed  to  rise  on  every  side  of  Poland,  in  forms  ap- 
palling to  the  luxurious,  the  avaricious,  the  indolently  selfish, 
of  every  description  in  the  land,  but  which  only  roused  and 
nerved  the  hearts  and  arms  of  her  two  sons,  courageous  in 
the  simplicity  of  their  purpose — Poland's  preservation  ! they 
hastened  in  that  moment  to  her  bosom. 

The  events  of  this  her  mortal  struggle,  in  fast  union  with 
these  faithful  sons,  and  other  filial  hearts,  commemorated  in 
the  foregoing  narrative  of  Thaddeus  Sobieski,  need  not  be  re- 
capitulated here.  It  amply  tells  the  fate  of  the  great  kingdom 
which  had  stood  as  with  gates  of  brass,  until  the  intestine  rival- 
ries of  an  elective  monarchy — the  worshipped  idol  alike  of  pre- 
sumptuous private  ambition  and  pretended  patriotic  liberality 
— the  true  masked  priest  of  public  anarchy — rent  them  asun- 
der, and  the  watchful  nations,  ready  for  plunder  and  extended 
dominion,  poured  into  them  a flood  like  the  rivers  of  Babylon, 
over  all  her  walls  and  towers. 

We  have  read  that  part  of  her  bravest  sons  were  swept 
away  into  distant  lands  ; some  to  die  in  homeless  exile,  others 
to  meet  the  honorable  compassion  and  the  cheering  hopes  of 
sympathy  from  a people  like  themselves,  who  had  formerly 
fought  the  good  fight  for  England's  laws,  liberties,  and  royal 
name  in  Europe.  And  some  were  shut  up  from  the  light  of 
day  in  the  fettered  captivity  of  foreign  prisons,  until  “ the  iron 
entered  their  souls.”  Amongst  these  noble  captives  were 
General  Kosciusko  and  his  faithful  Achates,  Niemcivitz,  to 
whom  might  be  justly  applied  the  words  of  our  bard  of  “ The 
Seasons,”  affixed  to  the  young  brow  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney — 

**  The  plume  of  war,  with  early  chaplets  crown’d 
The  hero’s  laurel  with  the  poet’s  bays.” 

But  the  Emperor  Paul,  on  his  accession  to  the  throne  of 
the  Czars,  as  has  before  been  noted,  was  too  generous  a cap- 
tor  to  hold  in  cage  so  sweet  a singing  bird  and  so  noble  a lion  ; 
and  he  gave  them  liberty,  appending  to  the  act,  dearest  to  a 
free-born  heart,  an  imperial  donation  to  Kosciusko  that  might 
have  furnished  him  with  a golden  argosy  all  over  the  world. 
But  the  wounded  son  of  Poland  declined  it  in  a manner  worthy 
her  name,  and  with  an  ingenuous  gratitude  towards  the  munifi- 
cent sovereign  who  had  offered  it,  not  as  a bribe  for  “ golden 
opinions,”  but  as  a sincere  tribute  to  high  heroic  virtue. 

The  writer  of  this- note  was  informed  of  this  fact  many  years 
ago,  by  a celebrated  English  banker,  at  that  time.at  St.  Peters- 
burg, and  corresponding  between  that  city  and  London,  with 


NOTES, 


45^ 

whom  the  imperial  present  had  been  lodged,  and  through  whom 
General  Kosciusko  respectfully  but  decidedly  declined  its  ac- 
ceptance. 

Then  it  was  that,  after  halting  a short  time  in  England,  he 
with  his  school  and  camp  companion  in  so  many  changes,  pre- 
pared a second  crossing  over  the  Atlantic,  to  revisit  its  victor 
President  in  his  olive-grounds  at  Mount  Vernon.  But  Niemci-. 
vitz  had  another  errand.  His  roving  Cupid  had  long  settled 
its  wing,  and  he  eagerly  sought  to  plight,  before  Heaven’s  altar 
in  the  church,  the  already  sacred  vow  he  had  pledged  to  a fair 
daughter  of  that  country  while  sharing  the  dangers  of  its  battle- 
fields. 

It  was  with  great  difficulty  the  portcullis  of  a friendship 
strong  as  death  had  been  raised  in  old  chivalric  Kent,  to  allow 
departure  to  so  dear  and  honored  a guest  as  he,  who  their 
master  had  seen  fall  in  his  memorable  wounds  on  the  plain  of 
Brzesc.  But  he  promised  to  return  again,  should  the  same 
sweet  cherub  that  sat  up  aloft  on  his  first  voyage  to  America 
steer  back  his  little  bark  in  safety ; and  then  he  trusted  to 
be  once  more  clasped  to  the  bosom  of  Poland,  in  that  of  his 
most  beloved  friend,  a dweller  in  England.* 

Besides  this  cherished  heir  of  his  earliest  remembrances, 
there  were  other  friends  of  olden  days  who  had  welcomed  him 
with  gladdening  recollections.  Amongst  these  was  the  family 
of  Vanderhorst,  originally  of  the  Spanish  Netherlands,  who, 
from  religious  rather  than  political  motives,  had  transferred 
themselves  from  certain  persecutions  in  that  land  during  times 
of  papal  tyranny  to  the  shelter  of  the  British  colonies  on  the 
Transatlantic  shore,  and  who,  on  the  separation  of  those  colo- 
nies into  independent  states  from  the  mother  country,  had  re- 
moved, in  relative  grateful  duties,  to  the  governing  land  of 
their  early  refuge,  and  were  now  dwelling  here  in  prosperity 
and  happy  repose,  when  General  Kosciusko  set  Bis  honored 
foot  on  its  sea-girt  and  virtue-bulwarked  coast.  He  was  theii 
former  guest  while  at  New  York,  and  he  readily  accepted  their 
eager  invitation  that  he  would  revisit  them  in  their  new  pater- 
nal country.  At  this  period  the  head  of  the  respected  family 
resided  at  Bristol,  in  Queen’s  Square,  (the  Grosvenor  Square 
of  that  opulent  city,)  and  Mr.  Vanderhorst  inhabited  one  of 
the  most  superb  mansions  in  it.  General  Kosciusko  arrived 
at  his  worthy  host’s  door  on  the  7th  of  June,  1797,  and  was 
greeted  by  the  hearty  embrace  of  his  old  friend  and  the  blush- 

* The  portcullis,  the  gate,  and  the  armorial  crest  of  Beaufort  has  descended  from  the 
.oyal  founder  of  the  family,  John  of  Gaunt,  Duke  of  Lancaster. 


NOTES, 


453 


ingly-presented  cheeks  of  his  two  daughters,  young  and  lovely, 
in  their  teens.  Their  brother,  a fine  youth,  pressed  the  hand 
of  his  father’s  gallant  and  reyered  guest  to  his  lips.  Niemcivitz, 
meanwhile,  with  dew-like  tear-drops  glittering  over  his  joyous 
smiles,  greeted  every  one  with  the  affectionate  recognition  pf 
a heart  that  seemed  to  know  only  to  love.  The  writer,  for  one, 
shall  never  forget  those  tears  and  smiles  oi\that  venerable  but 
ever  kindly  face  j yet  it  was  only  in  his  old  age  that  I first 
knew  him.  But  sweet  sisters,  whom  I began  to  know  in  your 
bright  bloom,  I can  never  forget  those  charming  looks  of  re- 
ciprocating welcome  that  sprang  alone  from  the  fulness  of  a 
good  and  truthful  virgin  heart.  They  are  now  before  me, 
though  the  eyes  which  then  beamed  so  ingenuously  on  the 
honored  countenance  of  the  Polish  hero  are  closed  in  death  ; 
or  rather,  shall  I say,  re-opened  on  him  in  a fairer  and  never- 
closing  light. 

He  spent  a happy  week  in  that  bright  circle,  in  which  the 
present  commemorator  has  often  since  moved,  and  heard  mem- 
bers of  it  over  and  over  again  describe  its  happy  scenes  ; some- 
times the  younger  sister,  my  own  especial  friend ; at  other 
times  the  animated  brother.  The  revered  father  has  long  been 
in  his  respected  grave ; and  the  elder  sister,  after  an  early 
marriage  with  an  officer  of  distinction  in  the  British  army, 
breathed  her  last  sigh  in  the  island  of  Antigua,  leaving  an  only 
child,  a daughter,  Cordelia  Buncombe  Taylor,  a beautiful  me- 
morial of  the  surpassingly  lovely  mother  and  aunt  from  whom 
she  is  descended. 

During  the  Bristol  sojourn,  brief  as  it  was,  numerous  were 
the  sincere  votaries  to  simple-hearted  public  virtue  who  sought 
it  to  pay  their  homage  to  the  modest  hero  within  its  hospitable 
walls.  Rufus  King,  then  diplomatic  minister  from  the  United 
States  to  Great  Britain,  and  the  accomplished  Turnbull,  by 
pen,  pencil,  and  sword  the  celebrated  compeer  of  General 
Washington  in  his  fields  of  glory,  was  here  also. 

On  the  Polish  chief’s  approach  to  the  city  becoming  known, 
the  above  gentlemen,  with  its  sheriffs,  Penry  and  Edgar,  and 
Colonel  Sir  George  Thomas,  commanding  a regiment  of  dra- 
goons in  the  vicinity,  went  out  in  procession  to  meet  him,  to 
give  him  honoring  welcome  to  the  British  shores.  Crowds  of 
the  neighboring  gentry,  in  carriages  or  on  horseback,  thronged 
the  cavalcade  ; and  on  each  succeeding  day,  while  he  remained 
at  Bristol,  similar  throngs  of  enthusiastic  visitants  congregated 
in  the  square  to  catch  a moment’s  sight  of  him.  The  military 
band  of  the  cavalry  regiment  attended  every  evening  in  the 


^54 


NOTES. 


hall  of  Mr.  Vanderhorst,  to  regale  the  honor-oppressed  invalid 
with  martial  airs,  from  every  land  wherever  a soldier^s  banner 
had  waved. 

But  letters  arrived  from  Mount  Vernon.  General  Washing- 
ton had  become  impatient  for  his  expected  guest,  and  the 
morning  of  his  separation  from  his  Bristol  friends  was  fixed. 
The  vessel  in  which  he  was  to  embark  was  inspected  with  scru- 
pulous care  ; and  from  the  state  of  some  of  his  yet  unhealed 
wounds,  he  was  obliged  to  be  conveyed  from  Queen’s  Square 
to  the  quay  in  a sedan-chair.  Mr.  Vanderhorst  and  his  son 
preceded  it  on  foot,  and  two  military  officers,  Captains  Whor- 
wood  and  Ferguson,  walked  on  each  side,  each  with  his  helmet 
off  and  in  his  hand,  resting  them  on  the  poles  of  the  sedan  as 
they  moved  along.  The  colonel  and  other  personal  friends  of 
Mr.  Vanderhorst,  and  admirers  of  his  hero-guest,  followed  in 
the  rear  of  the  chair,  and  a respectful  and  self-organized  rank 
and  file  of  humbler  station  closed  the  procession  to  the  water- 
side. 

There  he  embarked  in  a lightly-manned  boat,  with  a sail 
and  rudder,  a more  precious  freight  than  Csesar  and  his  for- 
tunes ; for  the  Roman  general  crossed  a barrier-river  to  sub- 
vert his  country — Thaddeus  Kosciusko  a stream  of  refuge, 
after  having  sacrificed  his  all,  though  in  vain,  to  preserve  the 
independence  of  his  native  land.  And  thus  the  welcomed 
coming  speeded  parting  guest  took  a grateful  leave  of  the  party 
who  escorted  him.  They  had  seen  him  comfortably  placed  in 
the  boat,  and  when  it  had  put  off,  he  and  Niemcivitz,  un- 
capped, extended  their  handkerchiefs,  fluttering  in  the  breeze, 
to  them  and  the  other  bystanders,  as  the  little  sail  gave  bosom 
to  the  wind,  and  the  farewell  of  this  salution  was  answered 
with  the  warm  and  brave-hearted  cheers  of  old  British  custom, 
and  the  waving  of  hats,  which  propitious  sounds  echoed  back 
from  cliff  to  cliff  of  the  superb  St.  Vincent  rocks  that  rampart 
the  keys  of  the  Bristol  Avon. 

All  along  the  river,  as  the  bark  proceeded  down,  it  was 
met,  when  within  sight  of  any  of  the  numerojis  merchant  villas 
that  adorned  its  banks,  by  pretty  pleasure-skiffs,  bringing  votive 
presents  of  fruits  and  flowers  to  the  brave  voyagers  on  board. 
And  then,  while  the  wounded  and  fatigued  veteran,  as  he  lay 
on  his  pallet  on  the  deck,  was  only  able  to  bow  his  head  with 
a gracious  accepting  smile  to  the  respectful  messengers,  Niem- 
civitz stood  at  the  prow,  his  then  bright  locks  dallying  with  the 
sweet  zephyrs  from  the  gardened  shores,  and  spoke  the  gen- 
erabs  and  his  own  heartfelt  thanks,  in  a language  of  poetry 


NOTES. 


4SS 

that  best  accorded  with  his  own  glowing  and  his  chiefs  gallant 
feelings,  and  the  generous  benedicite  of  the  fair  donators. 

Onward  the  little  vessel  sped,  until  it  reached  the  American 
ship  afloat  in  King’s  Road,  to  convey  its  two  noble  passengers 
to  the  new  republic,  just  established  in  the  western  hemisphere. 
That  the  well-remembered  aid-de-camp  of  its  boasted  hero, 
Washington,  was  received  with  warrior  honors,  need  not  be 
here  described.  He  rested  that  night  under  the  variegated 
flag  streaming  from  the  topmast  head,  which  his  own  volunteei 
arm  had  assisted  to  place  there  ; and  he  thought  of  Poland  and 
of  England  till  he  glided  into  a gentle  sleep,  and  dreamed  of 
both.  By  the  following  letter  it  may  be  seen  that  his  eyes  were 
visited  next  day  by  a sweet  vision,  in  real  personal  existence,  of 
the  same  kind  beings  whose  recollections  alone  had  so  blandly 
soothed  his  pillow  on  the  surge. 

‘‘Letter  from  General  Kosciusko,  to Vanderhorst,  Esq., 

&c.,  &c.,  &c.  From  the  United  States  of  America,  No. 
36  Queen’s  Square,  Bristol. 

“ At  sea,’'  (but  without  further  date ; circumstances,  however, 
establishing  it  to  have  been  written  on  or  about  the  21st  or 
22djune,  1797.) 

“ Dear  Sir  ; 

“ It  is  the  subject  for  a drama  only,  where  the  actors  can 
express  with  the  action  and  words  what  may  approach  nearest 
to  what  was  passed  yesterday  within  us,  that  1 try  to  write. 
We  were  highly  pleased,  it  is  true,  and  with  uncommon  satisfac- 
tion, to  see  the  approach  of  your  family  in  a boat  to  our  ship. 
But  how  short  was  the  duration  of  the  pleasure ! When  sepa- 
ration took  place,  our  hearts  were  melted  in  tears.  And  we 
were  frightened  at  their  return,  with  fears  of  what  might  happen 
to  them  upon  a high  sea  in  so  small  a boat.  Every  rising  wave 
gave  the  greatest  pain  to  our  anxiety,  and  the  extreme  painful- 
ness of  our  alarm  even  increased  when  we  were  so  far  off  that 
we  could  not  see  them  more. 

“ I must  beg  ^of  you  to  give  them  a good  reprimand. 
Their  kind  and  sensible  hearts  passed  the  limits  of  safety  for 
themselves,  and  gave  us  the  most  distressful  emotions  of  soul. 
The  sea  was  so  rough,  I am  sure  they  must  all  be  very  sick. 
However,  we  send  them  the  warmest  thanks,  with  everlasting 
friendship  and  remembrance.  Be  pleased,  also,  to  take  for 
yourself  our  tender  respects. 

“ Never  shall  I forget  so  kind  reception  of  me  in  your 


NOTES. 


4S<^ 

house,  nor  the  attentions  of  your  friends.  I am  sensible  that 
I gave  to  you  and  your  amiable  family  a great  trouble ; but 
your  goodness  will  not  acknowledge  it,  and  by  so  doing,  it 
more  impresses  my  mind  with  the  obligation,  and  with  a true 
answering  affection  for  your  whole  family. 

“ I am,  dear  sir,  with  friendship  and  esteem,  your  most 
thankful  and  most  obedient  servant, 

‘‘T.  Kosciusko.’^ 

“ I can  nothing  add  to  the  feelings  of  my  worthy  friend  but 
that  I wish  to  the  respectable’  and  beautiful  family  of  Vander- 
horst  all  the  happiness  that  virtue  and  the  most  excellent  quali- 
ties of  the  heart  can  deserve. 

‘‘J.  Niemcivitz.'^ 

The  fair  deity — I mean  Mister  Cupid— desires  his  best 
compliments  to  you  all.” 

This  tender  yet  playful  postscript  from  the  young  soldier 
votary  of  Cupid  and  the  muse  is  evidently  appended  in  the 
gayety  of  an  affectionate  heart,  speeding  to  the  land  of  his  own 
lady-love,  shortly  to  become  his  bride  after  his  arrival,  and 
which  was  so  consummated.  Kosciusko  never  swerved  from  his 
souks  loyalty  to  the  bright  Polish  Laura  of  his  cherished  de- 
votedness \ and  his  subsequent  correspondence,  one  of  pure, 
unselfish  friendship,  with  the  youngest  daughter  of  his  vener- 
able Anglo-American  friend,  lovely  as  she  was  pure,  confided 
to  her  how  faithful  had  been  his  hearths  allegiance  to  the 
woman  of  his  first  and  last  vows.  They  had  met  during  his 
track  of  early  military  fame,  and  had  exchanged  these  vows. 
But  blighting  circumstances  interfered,  and  they  lived,  and 
loved,  but  never  met  again. 

The  narrator  of  these  little  reminiscences  might  well,  per- 
haps most  agreeably,  drop  the  curtain  here  ; for  strange  and 
stirring  incidents  awaited  the  two  friends  on  their  return  to 
Europe,  after  a rather  prolonged  sojourn  amongst  the  animated 
hospitalities  of  a grateful  people. 

The  homeward  side  of  that  curtain  was  wrought  in  mingled 
fabric,  gold,  silver,  and  various  threaded  yarns  ; and  many 
were  the  different  hands  that  threw  the  shuttles  — emperors, 
kings,  princes,  friends,  traitors ; but  above  all,  in  the  depth  of 
mischief,  the  spirit  of  suspicion  had  steeped  the  web. 

Such  was  the  lurid  appearance  of  the  great  drama  of  Eu- 


^rOTES, 


457 


rope  when  Kosciusko  and  Niemcivitz  set  foot  again  upon  its 
shores.  Death  had  thrown  his  pall  over  some  in  high  places 
and  others  in  low.  But  more  cheering  suns  soon  arose,  to 
scare  away  the  darkening  shadows,  and  the  patriot  heroes’ 
hopes  ascended  with  them.  How  some  were  honored,  some 
deceived  in  the  observance,  need  not  lengthen  out  our  present 
pages ; suffice  it  to  say  that  there  were  stars  then  rising  on  the 
horizon  which  promised  fairer  elements. 

It  may  be  recollected  that  at  the  signing  of  the  partition  of 
Poland  by  the  benumbed  Senate,  on  the  fatal  day  of  its  politi- 
cal decease,  the  young  prince  Adam  Czartoryski,  the  eldest 
son  of  the  justly-renowned  and  virtuous  palatine  of  Vilna,  who 
had  been  so  signal  a benefactor  to  his  country  by  the  endow- 
ment and  reformation  of  its  chief  schools,  was  sent  out  a host- 
age to  Russia,  in  seal  of  the  then  final  resignation.  His  edu- 
cation had  been  noble,  like  the  principles  of  those  schools  in 
the  foundation  of  which  the  brave,  illustrious  and  also  erudite 
Lithuanian  family  of  Krasinski  had  been  eminent  sharers."^ 
The  young  prince’s  manners  were  equally  noble  with  his  prin- 
ciples, and  not  long  in  attracting  the  most  powerful  eyes  in  the 
empire.  During  the  remainder  of  the  reign  of  the  Empress 
Catharine,  she  caused  him  to  be  treated  with  protective  kind- 
ness, and  on  her  demise  he  was  instantly  removed  by  the  Em- 
peror Paul  from  whatever  surveillance  had  been  left  over  him, 
into  the  imperial  palace  of  St.  Petersburg,  where  this  justly- 
admired  princely  student  of  Vilna  was  to  be  the  constant  in- 
mate and  companion  of  the  youthful  Alexander,  the  eldest  son 
and  heir  of  the  empire. 

Their  studies,  their  amusements,  were  shared  together ; 
and  they  soon  became  friends  like  brothers.  About  the  same 
time,  as  has  before  been  related,  Paul  had  given  freedom  to 
General  Kosciusko  and  his  compatriot  Niemcivitz.  And  still, 
after  the  death  of  that  mysteriously-destined  sovereign,  a hal- 
cyon sky  seemed  to  hold  its  bland  aspects  over  Russia’s  Scla- 
vonian  sister  people,  ancient  Sarmatia.  But  ere  long  the  scene 
changed,  and  the  “ seething-pot  ” of  a universal  ambition,  the 
crucible  of  nations,  grasped  by  the  hand  of  Napoleon,  began 
again  to  darken  the  world’s  atmosphere. 

* Count  Valerian  Krasinski,  a distinguished  son  of  this  house,  has  long  been  an  honored 
guest  in  England,  and  held  in  high  literary  respect  for  his  veritable  and  admirable  works, 
written  in  fine  English:  “The  Times  of  Philip  Augustus,”  and  “The  History  of  the  Prot- 
estant Reformation  in  Poland.”  The  writer  of  this  note  knows  that  he  has  in  his  posses- 
sion some  beautiful  manuscript  tales,  descriptive  of  the  manners  of  Poland  ; one  called 
“Amoina,”  a most  remarkable  story;  another,  entitled,  “My  Grandmamma,”  full  of 
interesting  matter,  written  as  a solace  in  occasional  rests  from  severer  literary  occupations. 
And  she  laments  that  he  has  not  yet  allowed  himself  to  be  prevailed  on  to  give  any  of  these 
touching  and  elegant  reminiscences  to  his  English  readers* 


458 


NOTES, 


Kosciusko  now  looked  on,  sometimes  with  yet  struggling 
hopes,  then  with  well-founded  convictions  that  the  doom  was 
not  yet  spent ; ’’  and  no  more  to  be  deluded  one  way  or  another, 
while  such  shifting  grounds  and  sudden  earthquakes  were 
erupting  the  earth  under  his  feet,  like  the  prophet  of  old,  boding 
worse  things  to  come,  he  withdrew  himself  far  into  the  solitudes 
of  nature,  into  the  wide  yet  noiseless  temple  of  God,  where  the 
prayer  of  an  honest  man’s  heart  might  be  heard  and  answered 
by  that  all-merciful  and  all-wise  Being,  who  sometimes  leaves 
* proud  men  to  themselves,  to  the  lawless,  headlong  driving  of 
their  arrogant  passions,  to  show  them,  in  the  due  turn  of  events, 
what  a vicious  self-aggrandizing,  abhorrent  and  despicable 
monster  in  human  shape  such  a noble  creature,  when  turned 
from  the  divine  purpose  of  his  creation,  may  become.  To  such 
contemplations,  and  to  the  repose  of  a mind  and  conscience  at 
peace  with  itself,  did  the  once,  nay,  ever-renowned  liero  of 
Poland,  retire  into  the  most  sequestered  mountains  of  Switzer- 
land. A few  friends,  of  the  same  closed  accounts  with  the 
world,  congregated  around  him ; and  there  he  dwelt  several 
years,  beloved  and  revered,  as,  indeed,  he  was  wherever  he 
planted  his  pilgrim  staff. 

He  died  at  Soleure,  in  the  house  of  a friend,  Mr.  Zeltner, 
in  consequence  of  a fall  from  his  horse  while  taking  a solitary 
ride.  He  was  buried  there  with  every  demonstration  of  respect 
in  the  power  of  the  simple  inhabitants  to  bestow.  But  the 
Emperor  Alexander,  on  hearing  of  the  event,  would  not  allow 
remains  so  honorable  to  be  divided  from  the  land  of  their 
birth  ; and  such  high  and  sincere  homage  to  the  undaunted 
heroism  and  universally  acknowledged  integrity  of  the  lamented 
dead  found  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  the  distinguishing  object 
sought,  that  of  transferring  his  virtue-consecrated  relics  to  the 
shrine  of  ancient  Christian  Poland,  the  city  of  Cracow,  and 
there  reinterring  them  in  the  great  royal  cemetery  of  the  most 
revered  patriots  of  the  kingdom. 

Years  rolled  on  over  the  head  and  heart  of  the  patriot  and 
the  bard,  Niemcivitz,  the^ever  ‘‘  faithful  Achates  ” of  his  friend 
and  his  country,  even  after,  to  his  bereaved  heart,  he  had  sur- 
vived both.  He  had  also  become  a widower.  His  gentle  and 
delicate  wife  went  to  revisit  her  native  climate  in  the  United 
States,  but  died  there.  On  his  return  thence  to  Europe,  the 
consolations  of  a fraternal  friendship,  in  the  bosoms  of  his 
noble  countrymen,  who  had  become  adopted  denizens  of  free 
and  happy  England,  vainly  sought  to  retain  him  with  them. 
Sorrow  in  a breast  of  his  temperament  cannot  find  rest  in  any 


NOTES. 


459 


place.  His  shining  locks,  once  likened  to  those  of  Hyperion, 
became  frosted  by  an  age  of  wandering  as  well  as  of  sadness  ; 
and  the  till  then  joyous  and  ever-tender  heart  of  the  sweetest 
poet  of  Sclavonian  birth  breathed  its  last  sigh  in  Paris,  in  the 
summer  of  1841.  It  was  on  the  first  of  June  ; and  on  the 
eighth  of  the  month  he  was  buried  with  military  honors  and  all 
the  distinguishing  rites  of  the  national  church.  The  funeral 
service  was  performed  by  the  Archbishop  of  Chalcidonia,  with 
a large  body  of  the  clergy  attending.  A choir  of  fifty  profes- 
sors sung  the  mass,  and  more  than  a thousand  persons  thronged 
the  procession — persons  of  all  nations,  of  all  creeds,  religious 
or  political,  of  every  rank  amongst  men,  of  every  mind,  from 
the  prince  to  the  peasant,  that  understood  the  true  value  of 
genius  when  helmed  by  virtue,  either  on  the  land  or  on  the 
wave  ; whether  in  the  field  or  in  the  cabinet ; in  the  student^s 
closet,  or  in  the  duties  of  domestic  home. 

Such  a man  was  Niemcivitz.  So  was  he  wept ; so  will  he 
be  remembered,  proving,  indeed,  most  convincingly,  that  there 
is  a standard  set  up  in  men’s  hearts,  if  they  would  but  look  to 
it,  which,  whatever  be  their  minor  clashing  opinions,  shows 
that  the  truly  great  and  good  in  this  earth  are  all  of  one  family 
in  the  estimation  of  pure  intellect,  the  spiritual  organ  of  all  just 
estimation,  which  is,  in  fact,  that  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven — 
that  kingdom  which,  if  its  laws  to  man  were  properly  preserved 
and  obeyed,  would  spread  the  shepherds’  promised  ‘‘peace 
and  good-will  to  all  mankind.”  But  men  may  listen,  approve, 
and  admire,  and  yet  withhold  obedience.  I3ut  why  will  the 
heirs  of  such  a covenant,  with  sight  and  hearing,  die  from  its 
inheritance  ? 

Kosciusko  and  Niemcivitz  were  real  appreciatcrs  of  so  rich 
a birthright  in  “ the  better  country  ! ” and  now  are  gone  to 
Him  who  purchased  it  by  His  most  precious  blood,  to  enter 
with  Him  forever  into  its  peaceful  and  glorious  rest. 

‘ j.  p- 


Bristol,  September,  1845. 


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